Kiss Kiss YoBang
by Windy City Dreamer
Summary: YoBlingers of the world unite! There's a secluded cabin, a moose head, heaving cleavage, and a wonderful lack of Tina. Whatever will they do? Lots of fluff with some drama thrown in for good measure. Or maybe the other way around...
1. Boondocks, USA

**Disclaimer: Don't own CSI...yeah, I guess that's it.**

**A/N: Hello all, Ashley here with more crap for you reading pleasure. This story is inspired by the wonderful Cath/War thread over at Talk CSI. Its a YoBlinger, (that was a duh, right?)and I think it might be a little out of character and not the greatest fictionbut I don't really care, and honestly, ya'll probably don't either. So anyway, read on if you dare. And don't say I didn't warn you!**

**Chapter One: Boondocks, USA**

"Tell me again why _we _had to be the ones to pull this?" Catherine asked, dropping her bags on the hardwood floor and glancing around.

She was standing just inside the door of a cabin. An honest-to-God backwoods cabin, complete with tacky moose head hanging over a stone fireplace and bulky wooden furniture. A warn leather couch and bear skin rug was thrown in for good measure.

"Nick has zillion cases, Sara, as usual, maxed out on overtime and is banished from the field. Griss' got that convention thing and Greg, well, I don't think Griss wants Greg to far from the lab just yet," Warrick surmised

"Luck of the draw," she muttered.

"Yeah, I guess," he picked up her bags and carried them further inside, dropping them beside the couch. "You wanna unpack now or after we go see about this case?"

"Uh, after. We might as well get started on the case. The sooner we're done, the sooner we can get back to Vegas."

"What? You don't like this lovely secluded cabin?" he asked sarcastically.

"I've seen too many murders and rapes happen in out of the way places to like anything secluded. Especially not in Boondocks, USA."

"Boondocks, huh? Isn't that a country song?"

She shot him a look. "And you know this how?"

"Uh, Nick was uh, going on and on about this group and this song..."

Catherine smirked at him. "Right. Well, come on cowboy, let's ride."

Warrick rolled his eyes, "Cowboy?"

Catherine grinned but didn't reply. "So what did Tina have to say about you coming up here?"

"Uh, actually, she was pretty cool with it."

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

Tina Brown made her way down the hallway, stopping in front of apartment 609. She selected a key from her ring and unlocked the door. Stepping inside and closing the door she made her way toward a lamp on the far wall, it was dark but she knew her way around well and in a minute a soft glow filled the room.

She raised an eyebrow at the figure lying on the couch, fast asleep. She walked over and planted a soft kiss on his lips.

He stirred and opened his eyes. A grin spread over his face. "What are you doing here?"

"What do you think?" she asked with a saucy grin.

"Well, I know _why_ you're here, but-"

"I've been left all alone," she said with a playful pout.

"Ahhh..." David said with understanding. "How long?"

"Who cares?" she dropped her purse on the floor and began unbuttoning her blouse.

"I sure as hell don't," he said reaching up to 'help'.

"Didn't think so," she grinned, letting her top flutter to the floor.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

"Ugh," Catherine said as she re-entered the cabin a few hours later. Her face was scrunched up in a scowl. "Next time, _you _spend all the time with the decomp and _I_ process the scene."

Warrick grinned. "I offered, remember?"

"Yes but you neglected to mention that our DB had been in that shed for three weeks. In the sun. In _July_."

Warrick's grin grew bigger and he shrugged. "I figured Griss had already told you the details."

"Hmph, I guess he forgot that part," she said saracastically. She sighed. "Where'd you put those lemons?"

"Already in the bathroom."

"Thanks," she said gratefully and headed straight for it. "If there's no hot water left then, well, too bad."

He laughed and stepped back as she walked past him. The smell really was quite terrible. "Use all the water you need."

She sent him a scathing look. "Shut up."

Warrick chuckled to himself as he watched her leave the room. He tossed himself on the couch, which, for all its hideousness, was really comfy. Mercifully, the cabin had a tv, with satellite, because otherwise they'd have nothing to do in this God forsaken place. He turned it on and started flipping channels.

He stopped on an old episode of _Seinfeld, _that show was always good for a laugh. And laugh he did. It was the episode where Jerry thought his dentists and hygienists were fooling around at his expense. Very funny stuff. Until they started talking about fantasies. That was definitely territory he didn't need to get into.

The thing about the human brain though, is that when it gets hold of a thought, _especially_ one that shouldn't be there, its almost impossible to let go of.

Which left him thinking about Cath's confession. _Just what kind of fantasy–no, no, no! Do **not** go there, _he told himself. But...well, he was curious. Who wouldn't be? This _was_ Catherine. And she was having fantasies about him. Curiosity was normal.

Having his own little fantasies on the other hand...well, that might not be such a good thing. Especially, when they were happening more and more frequently.

Like now.

He was acutely of aware of the water running from her shower and the images that were plaguing him were definitely ones that should not be there. At that very moment his mind was teasing him with an image of her and half a lemon and-

"For the love of God, man, stop!" he hissed at himself.

But the images didn't stop. It was like a Chinese finger trap of the mind. The harder he tried to stop, the more vivid the images. He was almost glad Cath would probably use up all the hot water. Cold would suit his needs so much better.

He was about to give up when the sounds of running water stopped. A few seconds later he heard a short scream and a thump. That was a quick cure for his fantasies and, thinking the worst, he rushed to the bathroom.

Not so crazy as to just burst in, after all if nothing was wrong, she'd kill him for sure, he knocked once on the door. "Cath? Is everything ok?"

There was no reply for a few seconds and he was about to just go in when the door swung open.

"Can I help you?" Catherine asked giving him a strange look. She was wrapped in a towel. A short towel that showed off lots of cleavage and leg, both of which were glimmering with water droplets

"Uh...I...you screamed and I thought something was wrong..." Now that he knew she was alright it was kinda hard to not notice the overall dewiness of her.

Her eyebrow rose a couple more centimeters. "And you were coming to save me? How very knight in shining armor of you Rick, but I'm fine."

_Yes you are_. "Uh, yeah. It was just...What happened?"

"There was a snake. It scared me, I killed it," she gestured toward the toilet.

He leaned in to look and sure enough a small snake was dead beside the commode, the weapon of its demise, a plunger, still lay on top of it. Even as he processed all this, it only took up a small amount of his brain power. The rest was occupied with her, their closeness, the heaving cleavage and the fact that she smelled like lemons and some other fruit. Strawberries, maybe?

"Oh." He didn't think he could say anything else.

"Uh, Rick, are you ok?"

"Yeah," he nodded.

She crossed her arms under her chest, pushing the twins up even further. "You sure? Because you don't look ok."

His gaze alighted on the exposed flesh before quickly darting away to the safeness of a wall. "Uh, yeah, I'm fine," he said, thinking that if he could blush he'd be crimson by now.

Catherine had noticed the little dance his eyes had done and both eyebrows shot up. She couldn't help but grin. "Rick, am I making you uncomfortable?"

"No," he lied.

"You seem uncomfortable."

"Nope," another lie.

"Well, why won't you look me in the face?"

Warrick considered his options. The face seemed like safe territory and he looked at her.

This was a very bad choice.

Her skin was damp and pink from the hot shower, as well as what had probably been a vigorous scrubbing session. Her eyes were twinkling with obvious enjoyment and a droplet of water clung to her lower lip. Her hair was damp and mussed and overall she looked like a woman who had been well and thoroughly sexed.

Talk about a fantasy. Standing in front of him was what classified as most red-blooded males, and some red-blooded females, dream come true. People would kill for this. He knew. He'd been to the crime scenes. It was just too much.

Which is why he could not be blamed for his actions.

**A/N: Considering how much I hate to read cliffhangers you think I wouldn't do that to you guys, wouldn't you? But I never said I was fair (shrugs). However I will give you this little bit of chapter two: _One minute he was leaning over her staring at a dead snake, the next second she was pinned between him and the wall. His brain devoid of all thoughts except of him, her and that strip of cloth that stood between him and her skin_. Hmm, I wonder where this is heading...Oh wait I already know, I wrote it, and even though I'm sure you have an idea review anyway and I promiseYoBang s'mores for xmas...Use your imagination people!**


	2. The Floodgates are Opened

**A/N: Wow, ya'll got me to update the next day. That's certainly a firstfor me. Thanks to all you guys who reviewed my little piece of insanity, especially Ruzila forsome, uh,tips on this chappie, but if it sucks it was all my doing. So feel free to yell and throw stilettoes if you must, but whatever you do, review (hey, that rhymed!) I have no beta, all mistakes are mine. Oh and the chapter title is dumb, but I think it fits... And this is the newly edited version, so if something seems off,let me know.**

**Chapter Two: The Floodgates are Opened**

One minute he was leaning over her staring at a dead snake, the next second she was pinned between him and the wall. His brain devoid of all thoughts except of him, her and that strip of cloth that stood between him and her skin.

As Warrick assailed her lips, somewhere in the very back of his mind he realized something, he'd been fighting a battle and lost. And if this was the penalty for losing, he'd throw the war.

His hand crept up between them to rid her of the towel.

To say Catherine was shocked would be the understatement of the year. Here she thought she'd just been flustering him a little. Well, she thought wrong. But at that moment she didn't much care.

As Warrick deftly removed the towel with one hand, the shock of the cool air on her still damp skin brought her back to reality and the beginnings of doubt began to make their way into her mind.

But then Warrick began a rather pleasant attack on her neck and all coherent thoughts were quickly done a way with.

She moaned and gripped his arms, her nails digging into his flesh through the thin fabric of his button-up. "Oh, God," she sighed.

Whatever restraint he had left in him was quickly done away with the blatant breathy arousal in those words. He lifted her effortlessly from the floor and her legs wrapped around his waist.

His thoughts were on the bedrooms at the back of the cabin but he wanted her now, and at the moment the few yards to his room were a few too many.

The sink would just have to do.

_OoOoOoOoOoOoO_

Tina went around the apartment picking up her clothes. David had been on call but that hadn't interfered with her fun. They'd just gone another round when his beeper had gone off and he'd had to leave.

He had kissed her on the cheek right before he left out. "Dinner tonight?"

"Uh, I don't know. I need to handle some...things first."

He raised an eyebrow at her but left it alone. "Ok.. Well, call me. This shouldn't take long."

After she gathered up all her clothes she took a quick shower and redressed. Pulling her hair into a pony tail, she left the apartment, locking up behind her.

It took about 20 minutes to get to her destination. The building was standard issue government property and she went inside.

At the front desk a short woman with brown, curly, slightly wild hair was on the phone. Tina approached the desk and waited patiently. The woman shot her a pleasant smile and covered the mouth piece of the phone, "One second and I'll be right with you."

Tina nodded and studied the building. The majority of the walls were made of glass, allowing her to see inside the work-spaces and watch the people milling about. It was busy but not chaotic, which wasn't at all how she had pictured it.

The woman hung up and turned to her. "Hi, I'm Judy and welcome to the Crime Lab. How can I help you?" she asked with a smile.

"Uh, actually, I'm looking for a Mr. Grissom. Do you know where I can find him?"

"Well, he's usually all over this place talking about one case or another. Why don't you wait over there and I'll page him for you?" she asked gesturing to a waiting area off to the right and behind a glass wall.

"Ok. Thank you." She took as seat and began flipping through a magazine about developments in forensic science.

She'd barely begun an article about new technology in finger printing when a shadow fell over the page. She looked up.

"Gil Grissom. And you are...?"

"Hello Mr. Grissom. I'm Tina. Tina Brown."

Grissoms eyes lit in recognition. "Ah, Mrs. Brown. How nice to meet you. Please call me Gil. What can I do for you?"

"Tina's good for me. I was just wondering about the, uh, case that Warrick's on?"

"Oh." He cocked his head to the side. "He didn't tell you..."

"Oh, no, no. Nothing like that. It's just he didn't know how long he'd be gone and I was just curious whether you might know."

"Well, I talked to him about an hour ago. Catherine-the CSI who's with him- was still with the body and he'd just finished the scene. Probably three days, four at most, but they'll definitely be gone tomorrow and most of Thursday."

"Oh...Ok. Thank you for your time. I'm sure you're busy and I could've just called-"

He raised a hand to stop her. "It was no problem. Have a nice day Mrs.- Tina," he corrected himself and gave her a small smile.

They shook hands and he walked away.

Tina smiled to herself and pulled out her cell on her way to the door.

"David," she said after the voice mail beep, "how bout dinner _and _breakfast? We can eat in." She gave a flirty laugh, "And _you_ can eat out." She flipped the device closed and climbed in her car.

As she drove out the lot, she idly wondered just what _Mr_. Brown was doing.

**A/N: It's really more of a question of who, isn't it? Hmmm.So anyway, what do you think? Good? Bad? Horrible? Oh, I owe ya'll a teaser don't I? Probably not an actual excerpt but here ya go: _Warrick awoke early the next morning. The predawn light that flitted through a crack in the curtain cast enough light for him to just make out the form tucked up against him. His brain, although not fully operable just yet, had no trouble recalling the events of the night before. The bathroom hadn't been the only place to see some action._**


	3. The Morning After

Chapter three: The Morning After

**A/N: Sorry to disappoint all ya'll who were hoping for more YoBang, unfortunately this story does have a plot. Sorry. However, as a unrepentant hood-rat, I love all things drama and there will be lots of drama to come, so stay tuned. This chapter isn't the greatest, I know, but 1). I wanted to get something up before I go out of town and 2). I had to write something about how they felt and this is what came out. It gets better, I promise, so don't desert me, ok?**

Warrick awoke early the next morning. The predawn light that flitted through a crack in the curtain cast enough light for him to just make out the form tucked up against him.

His brain, although not fully operable just yet, had no trouble recalling the events of the night before. The bathroom hadn't been the only place to see some action.

An image of he and Catherine falling on the couch, a tangle of eager limbs, popped into his mind. He smirked at the thought that a tumble from the couch to the bear skin rug below hadn't slowed them down one bit.

His smirk grew to a grin, a slightly self-satisfied grin, as he recalled them finally making it to the bedroom. The frenzy had been gone, but the passion sure hadn't.

Warrick shifted slightly and looked at Catherine, his eyes dancing over her silhouette, half hidden beneath the sheets. He reached out to stroke her arm but stopped mid-reach. Something had caught his eye.

The increasing light glinted off metal. A ring. His ring. His _wedding_ ring.

All pleasant thoughts and self-satisfaction ceased, the feeling of overall contentment crashed and burned, profound guilt growing in its wake.

He looked from the ring to Catherine and the guilt increased by a hundred.

_What the hell did I do?_ he thought and fought the urge to curse out loud.

He tried to move but his arm was securely pinned under Catherine. Move and she'd wake up for sure, and to say the thought didn't scare him just a little was a lie. A big one.

He lay perfectly still, deep in thought.

And he'd thought he was in the wrong before. Ha! A few forbidden fantasies were nothing compared to the mess he was in now.

Warrick shook his head and heaved a heavy sigh, stiffening when he felt her move. She gave a little contented sigh, he would've thought it cute had it been any other time, and she rolled over slightly.

Thankfully, it was just enough to free Warrick's arm and he eased from the bed.

Glad that he hadn't bothered to really unpack the day before, he grabbed underwear and his toothbrush from his duffel and an olive green t-shirt and pair of jeans from a hook on the back of the door.

Outside the bathroom door he paused. He really didn't need to be revisiting the scene of his crime, albeit a very pleasant crime. However, the last thing he wanted, no, the last thing he _needed_, was to be constantly inhaling the scent that still clung to his skin, a dizzying combination of him, her and sex.

Besides, there would be no avoiding reminders of last night. Thanks to them, practically the entire cabin had been branded. Not to mention that the living, breathing reminder was still asleep in his bed.

The guilt tied a knot in his gut as he thought about Catherine. He didn't know what this would do to them and this scared him, more than he wanted to admit.

It occurred to him that he should probably be more concerned about his marriage than his relationship with Catherine, but he simply couldn't process all that right then.

He turned the water in the tub on full blast and pulled the stopper for the shower. Right now he needed to think. Sorting everything out could come later.

A combination of running water and a sudden lack of heat pulled Catherine from a very fitful sleep.

She'd been having the most wonderful dream. Quite vivid too. Her, Warrick and the bathroom sink...and the couch...and rug...and...

She opened her eyes a crack and instantly noted that she was not in her room and that there was nothing between her skin and the sheets. And since the cabin only had two bedrooms, that meant she was naked, in Warrick's bed. Which meant...

Her eyes went wide and she sat up, reflexively holding the sheet to her chest.

"Oh...my...God."

They had...And he was...And she had...

"Oh my God," she said again.

She hurriedly got up from the bed, wrapping the sheet hastily around herself, and began to pace. She wasn't usually a pacer, but if ever there were a time to start, this was it.

Catherine had no problems recalling the events of the previous evening. On the contrary, she couldn't stop the memories if she tried, and boy, was she trying.

"No, no, no, no, no, no," she began to chant in time with her pacing, running a hand through her hair.

This was not supposed to happen. At least not like this. Not when he was married.

Yeah, she'd thought about it. She'd wanted it, she'd be lying if she said otherwise, but she'd never wanted _this_. She'd slept with a married man. Something she thought she'd never knowingly do, especially not after Eddie.

Catherine shook her head. This was bad.

She heard the water in the bathroom turn off and stopped pacing. She couldn't face him. Not right then.

She hightailed it the few steps to her room and closed the door behind her, leaning against it.

She should have stopped it. She should have stopped the kiss before things escalated and just made a joke of it. They'd have forced a laugh and it would have been awkward. But this, this was hell. And it would be hell for a long time.

So how could she fix it?

**A/N: Short, I know, but it did the job, had to get all that out there. Hope you liked it and if you did let me know. Heck, if you didn't let me know. And of course here's your teaser:_ They somehow managed to avoid each other most of the day. He went back to the scene and with an officer on interviews. She processed the gathered evidence. All communications were through third-parties. There was a case to work and they were thankful for the distraction. _**

_**Distractions, though, are temporary. Catherine entered the cabin that evening, dead-tired from throwing herself into work and wary of the conversation she knew was coming.**_


	4. Conversation

**Disclaimer: Just to remind you, I don't own CSI. Sorry.**

**A/N: Sorry it took so long to update. I was out of town and then I never got a chance to typeup the chapter, even though it was done a while ago. Hope it's up to par. But you guys don't want excuses, you want the story, so here it is:**

**Chapter Four: Conversation**

They somehow managed to avoid each other most of the day. He went back to the scene and with an officer on interviews. She processed the gathered evidence. All communications were through third-parties. There was a case to work and they were thankful for the distraction.

Distractions, though, are temporary.

Catherine entered the cabin that evening, dead-tired from throwing herself into work and wary of the conversation she knew was coming.

Warrick was already there, sitting on the couch, staring unseeingly at the tv. His gaze shifted to her the second she closed the door. "Hey," he said, sounding as tired as she felt.

"Hey." She didn't move from the doorway and a heavy silence fell over the room.

"We need to talk," they blurted simultaneously and let out uneasy laughs.

She crossed the room and took a seat across from him in a worn easy chair. Sensing the beginning of another uncomfortable silence, she spoke up, "Last night shouldn't have happened."

That hadn't come out the way she'd rehearsed in her head what felt like a million times, but it was out there now, and there was no turning back. Besides, it was true...wasn't it?

Something that could have been hurt passed over Warrick's face, but it as gone as quickly as it appeared and Catherine couldn't be sure.

He sighed. "Yeah," he gave a small nod of agreement. "I..." he cleared his throat. "I was way out of line and-"

She let out a humorless laugh. "It takes two to tango, Warrick. Don't try and put this all on you. I'm just as responsible as you are."

He studied her a moment and sighed, sitting back and running a hand over his face. "Yeah, I guess."

"You guess? Warrick, you didn't force yourself on me. There is no 'guessing' about it!"

He couldn't help but smile inwardly, she was just so...Catherine. Knowing this strain of conversation could go on forever if he tried to say otherwise, he agreed. "Ok. You're right."

She eyed him a little suspiciously and it was a few seconds before she spoke. "Good...So," she sighed, "What are we gonna do? About...this?"

Warrick leaned forward, resting his arm on his knees. He didn't want to think about what he was going to do. "I don't really know," he let out a breath. "I mean I have to tell Tina, don't I?" He shook his head absently, "But..."

"Oh, God," Catherine groaned under her breath as a whole new wave of guilt assaulted her.

Warrick looked at her. "What?" He knew her too well to not have an idea of what was running through her head and that she'd never say it if he didn't ask.

She hadn't meant to say anything aloud but she had. "Oh nothing," she said sarcastically. "I've only killed your marriage!" her voice cracked and she sat back in the chair, pressing her hand over her eyes.

"Hey, none of that, ok? You can think you're as much to blame as me but you're not."

Catherine shook her head, trying to ignore the stinging in her eyes.

"Cath, look at me," he reached out and moved her hand, tilting her chin so that she was looking at him. Her eyes were a little red, and his tone softened. "If my marriage is over, it's because of me."

She pulled back from his touch and closed her eyes. She began messaging her temples and let out a shaky breath. "Why are we fighting over this?" she asked frustrated and tired. "Either one of us could've stopped things before they went too far. It doesn't matter anyway. What happened, happened and that's that."

"But if I hadn't started it..." he trailed off and shook his head.

Catherine opened her eyes and stared at him, wanting badly to ask why he did start it. What had brought all this on, but she knew that was a conversation they shouldn't be having.

She sighed and dropped her gaze. There was a pause before she finally spoke, her voice quiet, "Warrick, if I'd wanted to stop you, I could've stopped you."

The meaning of those words was not lost on either of them, and the room was quiet again. Warrick studied her for a minute, but she wouldn't meet his gaze. He decided to leave it alone. For now.

He spoke up. "Now what?"

She sighed, grateful he hadn't pressed her. "Now, we finish this case. We go back. You tell Tina," she gave a little shrug. "Go from there."

Finishing the case was easy. By the end of day four the evidence was enough to lock up their main suspect; a thirteen year old boy, pissed off at his teacher for assigning to much homework. The kid had seen the end of his troubles in the form of a .38. Two shots, one to the gut, another to the head, and he'd walked away. Never blinked, never looked back.

When they'd confronted him with the evidence, the kid hadn't batted an eye and the cold vacancy in his gaze had sent a chill down Catherine's spine. Trial was not something she'd be looking forward to, but that was months away and she had other things on her mind.

The same could be said for Warrick, apparently, because the entire two and a half hour drive back to Vegas was spent almost entirely in silence, and neither of them really noticed.

Their late afternoon arrival back at the lab found the graveyard shift still on duty due to a triple homicide. Sara and Nick were leaving Trace as Catherine and Warrick entered.

"Oh, hey, you're back. You get lucky?" Nick asked when he saw them.

Catherine froze, her mouth slightly open and Warrick's eyebrows shot up, but they recovered quickly.

Catherine turned her slack jaw into a smirk and raised a brow. "A lady never tells, Nick."

Sara chuckled and Nick gave sheepish grin.

"You knew what I meant. How'd the case go?"

Warrick answered. "This kid killed his teacher. Too much homework."

Nick shook his head. "What do people be thinking?"

"They don't," Sara supplied, her voice tinged with a slight sadness. Nick glanced at her.

"Yeah," Catherine agreed, too preoccupied to notice the little exchange. "Hey, you know where we can find Grissom? We need to give him our report so we can get out of here."

"Don't rub it in," Sara joked. "He's in DNA. Hodges just paged him."

"Thanks," she said and headed down the hall.

"Good luck on your case," Warrick added, following after Catherine.

Hodges was informing Grissom that some of the blood found at the scene belonged to someone other than the victims when they walked in.

Grissom turned to them. "You're back. Good. How'd it go?"

"You're welcome," Hodges intoned snidely.

Grissom glanced at him. "So, how'd the case go?" he asked again, turning back to them and heading for the door.

Warrick and Catherine couldn't help but grin and Hodges sent them both a sneer as they followed Grissom from the room.

"Thirteen year old kid shot his teacher. We found the gun in his room, his prints all over it. And he took the guys wedding ring as a trophy," Catherine explained.

"Yeah. There's no doubt it was him," Warrick confirmed. "All sorts of evidence. Dirt and other trace from the area on his shoes. He washed the clothes but there was still splatter present. We got him."

"Good job. Have your final report on my desk," he said as he turned into the layout room, where Sara and Nick were documenting evidence.

"Will do," Catherine said, although he probably didn't hear her. "God, I hate it when he does that."

Warrick chuckled. "Yeah."

Catherine looked up at him. "So... I guess I'll talk to you later?"

He nodded. "Yeah, sure."

She gave him a small smile. "Ok." She hesitated, then reached out and gave his arm a supportive squeeze. "Warrick, I...I hope everything works out okay."

Warrick stared at her for a second and said, "Yeah. Me too."

She smiled again and let go of his arm. "See you," she said and walked off down the hall.

He watched her until she rounded the corner then pulled out his cell. Pushing a button, he held the phone to his ear and waited.

"Hey Tina. I'm back," he paused, listening. "Yeah. You think you can come get me? Cath had to go see about Lindsey," he explained. The original plan had been for Catherine to just drop him off but there had been an unspoken agreement that wouldn't be the best plan. "Thanks," he listened again and closed his eyes, letting out a silent sigh. "Yeah, I missed you too...Love you too...Bye."

He closed the phone and shook his head. This was going to be hard.

Fifteen minutes later Warrick was climbing into Tina's car.

"Hey," she greeted him, leaning across the console and planting a quick kiss on his mouth.

"Hey."

"How was it."

"Uh, it was...eventful."

She glanced at him and grinned. "Really?"

"Yeah."

It grew quiet and it was apparent that he wasn't going to elaborate on the topic.

"We need to talk," they said simultaneously. She laughed and it occurred to him that this was the second time in three days that had happened.

"Me first," she said still chuckling.

He eyed her, not sure where this was going. "Ok."

She grinned. "I was gonna do this whole big thing, dinner, candles, the works, but..." she giggled and shrugged, her grin growing.

He stared at her expectantly. "Ok...What's up?"

She giggled again and pulled to a halt at a stop sign. She turned to face him, her eyes bright and shining.

"Warrick, I'm pregnant."

**A/N: First off, I hope you didn't see that coming, cuz if you did then I suck! LOL. And thank you all so much for reviewing. I love hearing what you guys think, so keep 'em coming! They make me write faster (honest, this one was done a while ago and I've plotted out up til chapter nine). And as always here's your teaser (sorry, can't be chapter length, and I hope that you can sleep afterward): **

_**"Pregnant?"**_

_**She gave him a look as she pulled from the sign. "Yeah. Pregnant. Ya know, expecting. With child. Preggers. You're gonna be a daddy," she laughed. **_

_**"So what did you want to tell me?" she asked.**_

_**"Oh...uh..."**_

**Now be nice and review. Please.**


	5. Same Ol', Same Ol'

**Disclaimer: CSI? Nope not mine, check with Jerry Bruckheimer.**

**A/M: Apparently, I have zero self control, because I wasn't gonna post this yet. I also have no beta so any and all typos and mistakes are mine and probably due to exhaustion. As always thanks so much for the reviews (I told you they make me write faster!) and I hope you like this chapter as much as the previous ones. **

**Chapter Five: Same 'Ol, Same 'Ol**

"Pregnant?"

She gave him a look as she pulled from the sign. "Yeah. Pregnant. Ya know, expecting. With child. Preggers. You're gonna be a daddy," she laughed and looked at him. "Close your mouth, you'll catch flies."

"Wow." He wasn't capable of say much else.

"Yeah, 'wow'," she laughed again."How far?"

"Almost four months," she said proudly.

"When'd you find out?"

"Yesterday. I wanted to tell you in person. That's why I didn't just call you."

"Oh...Wow."

She chuckled. "Kinda stunned, huh? Well, while that's sinking in, why don't you tell me what you wanted to talk about?"

"Oh...uh..."

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

Catherine glanced at her cell phone's caller ID before flipping it open and pressing it to her ear. "How'd she take it? Should I fear for my life?"she asked, not at all joking.

"I couldn't do it."

"You couldn't do it?"

A heavy sigh was the only reply.

"Warrick, you've got to tell her. You can't-"

"Catherine...she's-she's pregnant, Cath."

"Oh...uh," she paused, unsure of what to say. "Uh, congratulations?" she tried, the words feeling woefully inadequate and wrong.

He sighed again. "Uh, yeah. Thanks.

It was silent for a moment.

"What are you gonna do now?"

His breathing was the only sign that he was still on the line. "Warrick?"

"I don't know."

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

A little over two months later and he still hadn't told Tina. He just couldn't bring himself to do it. Be it cowardice or guilt, the pregnancy or a combination of all three, the timing just never seemed right and so the days turned to weeks and he still hadn't done it.

The craziest thing of all, or at least it seemed so to him, was that everything continued on as usual and how easily he could pretend that everything was normal. He went to work, came home, talked to Tina when she was there, went to sleep and did it all again the next day.

Of course, there were slight differences day to day, breakfast with the rest of shift, a movie, or dinner out, but the monotony of it all was in stark contrast with his mental state. He was in turmoil. At least on the home front.

Thankfully, the initial awkwardness with Catherine had finally subsided. The first few days back were torture. Whenever they were together the tension was tangible. A blind man could see that something was up, but the team had let what was going on between them _stay _between them, and he was grateful. But now they were back to their usual friendly banter and closeness.

Halloween was fast approaching, which meant an increase in the freaks and crimes already prevailing Vegas. This increase left the Crime Lab exceptionally busy, but Warrick was glad for it. It was his only reprieve. After all, one didn't have much energy to feel guilty after working a triple shift.

Warrick tiredly made his way to his apartment after pulling a double on the 12 hours of sleep he'd had in the past seventy-eight hours.

He unlocked the door, closing it behind him. "Tina?" He walked in the living room. "Tin-" he stopped, spying a sheet of computer paper propped against a candle on the coffee table. He dropped his keys next to it and picked it up.

_Hey Rick,_

_Got called in. _

_Be home as soon as possible._

_Dinner's in the fridge. _

_Love you,_

_T._

He'd been walking towards the kitchen as he read. Sighing he balled up the paper and pulled open the fridge. Noting that dinner was leftovers, he grabbed a bottle of water. Tossing the paper in the trash, he downed the water and pushed closed the refrigerator door.

He'd be glad when she was finally on maternity leave. Juggling work, his conscience and guilt was enough to deal with without worrying about her.

God, he was tired. He'd be off to bed as soon as he typed up a few notes on the case he was working. It was a habit he'd started just in case he got an idea or had the urge to look at all the evidence together without heading back to the lab, something that happened quite often.

He entered their home office and flicked on the lights. He made a mental note to start moving the stuff from this room to the extra bedroom down the hall. They both wanted the baby's room as close to theirs as possible and this was it.

Fortunately, there wasn't much to move. His gaze took in the computer desk, rolling chair, two filing cabinets and a few smaller items. The hardest thing to move would be the aquarium in the corner. It was quite large. He'd have to have Nick help him.

He walked to the desk and noticed a small pile of bills sitting on top. They all had 'paid' written in Tina's swirling red script. He realized she must not have had time to shred them before she left and picked up the stack, walking over to the shredder next to the filing cabinets.

He stuck the first bill into the slot and sighed when nothing happend. The darn thing was jammed again. They really had to get a new one.

Irritated that this was cutting into his sleeping time, he thought about just leaving the bills and the notes for tomorrow. But he knew that it could very well be impossible to do tomorrow or the next day or the next. Resigning himself to the task, he lifted the shredder from the top of the waste basket and turned it over, instantly spotting the cause of his delay. An industrial sized paper clip was wedged in the blades.

This would take a while and he sighed again. Glancing in the basket that caught all the bits of paper he noticed that one of them was intact. It was saturated with holes and scratches but intact.

He shook his head. They really did need a new shredder.

He was about to turn away when he noticed thatthe paperwas Tina's cell phone bill. It was old, from October, for the previous billing period, the month of August. But the number shown under the words amount owed wasn't what made him look twice.

It was a whole different number.

**A/N: So there you have chapter five. Our shredder does that all the time, stupid piece of crap. Anyway as always here's your teaser:_ Warrick plucked the bill from the waste basket, shaking off bits of paper that clung to it. He recognized that number. He'd seen it a few times on the caller ID. He'd asked Tina who it had been and she claimed that it was just a wrong number and he'd dismissed it. But why would she be calling a wrong number, _repeatedly_, from her cell phone?_**

**_He got that feeling that usually preceeded a big break in a case. A hunch. And his hunches were usually right._**

**So I'll see ya'll next time. Same Yo time. Same Bling channel. theme song plays: nuna nuna nuna nuna YoBling! And yes, I know I'm nuts.**


	6. Discoveries

**A/N: I don't really have much to say this time. It's to late (or early depending on how you look at it) to be funny or witty. But I will say this, some of ya'll are gonna be mad at me -glances at Talk CSI girls- Iwill make up for it, promise.And as always,thanks for the reviews. I love them to what I am sure is an unhealthy degree. Now, without further ado, chapter six:**

**Chapter Six: Discoveries**

Warrick plucked the bill from the waste basket, shaking off bits of paper that clung to it. He recognized that number. He'd seen it a few times on the caller ID. He'd asked Tina who it had been and she claimed that it was just a wrong number and he'd dismissed it. But why would she be calling a wrong number, repeatedly, from her cell phone?

He got that feeling that usually preceded a big break in a case. A hunch. And his hunches were usually right.

All vestiges of fatigue now gone, Warrick crossed to the desk. Glancing at the bill, he punched in the numbers 1-702-251-6053.

The ringing in his ear seemed to last an hour, although it was, in reality, only a minute or so before it was answered.

"_Hey, you've reached David. Sorry you couldn't reach me I..."_

Warrick's movements were slow as he remembered the phone from his ear and sat in gently on the cradle.

There was only one reason for Tina to be calling David on his cell. Especially, when the calls occurred while he wasn't around. And why else would she play dumb about whose number was on the caller ID.

Tina was having an affair.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

Three hours later, Warrick sat on the living room sofa, deep in thought. He tried to apply the team's motto, or perhaps more accurately, Grissom's mantra "never assume" to his personal life as well.

So instead of jumping to conclusions, he'd done what he did best: collected evidence.

The first thing he did was call Cingular, asking for them to check the outgoing and received calls for that number. He jotted down the information they gave him with the same cool detachment he would a cases test results, surprising himself with his calm.

Next, he got on the computer.

On a case a little while back, Archie had told him that even though you hit the delete key, the information remains. That with a few clicks of the right keys, that information could be called forth as though you'd done nothing at all. Then he'd showed him how.

Warrick had never thought he'd use that knowledge, but there he'd sat in front of the glowing monitor, shocked by what he was reading. He'd printed out the information, adding it to his notes and the cell phone bill. Mirthlessly, he'd laughed at the thought that he'd prepared as though he was going to trial.

In a way, he was.

The scraping and jingling sound of keys in the lock broke into his thoughts and he looked up just as the door swung inward.

Tina walked in and pushed the door shut, turning the lock. She turned around and jumped, surprised to find him on the couch.

One hand flew to her chest as the other instinctively clutched her rounded belly. A purse dangled from her elbow.

"Jeez, baby. You scared me!" she laughed. "What're you doing up? Didn't you work a double?" A small smile tugged at her lips as she sat down her purse and looked at him.

He didn't answer. Instead, he held up the small stack of papers, the Cingular Wireless bill taking place of honor in front.

She glanced at it confusion in her eyes. Then the confusion turned to dread and the smile slipped from her face.

"Oh God, Warrick-"

"I don't think God had anything to do with it."

Her mouth opened and closed a few times but no sound came out, and tears flooded her eyes. "Warrick, I...Don't be mad, Rick. It-it didn't mean anything, Warrick. I swear it was just..." her voice trailed off and she gave a small shrug, her gaze dropping.

Warrick watched her, taking it all in. The trembling lip, the tears, the rounded hump of her stomach. He sighed. "I'm not."

She looked at him, confused. "What?"

"I'm not mad."

Bewilderment was evident in her face. "You're not mad?" she asked slowly and shook her head. "How can you...?"

It was an obvious question. How _could_ he not be mad?

He sighed again. "Because...two months ago..."

Her eyes widened and she sank into a chair. "You mean you...?"

He gave a slight nod. "It was a mistake."

"Who-" she shook her head. "Never mind, it doesn't matter." She closed her eyes and massaged her forehead. "How long?"

"Just once. Heat of the moment."

She nodded slowly and sat forward, sniffling. She looked him in the eyes, his tired and hurt, hers red, puffy and scared. "What do we do now, Warrick?" she asked.

Warrick sighed and looked at her.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

Seventy-two hours later, Catherine walked into the break room. She was famished and there was a Gladware container of seafood salad in the fridge with her name on it. She pulled it from the refrigerator and sniffed it. She couldn't remember exactly when she'd put it in there but it smelled ok, and she was too hungry to care.

She sat at the table and started a crossword puzzle, munching away. About halfway through the container, she got that unpleasant feeling in her stomach that preceded an even more unpleasant act.

_Oh no. Just couldn't settle for the vending machine could you?_ Catherine thought, rising from her seat and making a beeline for the ladies room.

She barely made it to the first stall before she was reacquainted with her lunch.

When she was confident that dry heaves was all that her body could produce, she leaned against the stall and closed her eyes, wiping her sleeve across her mouth. She didn't even hear the door open.

"You okay?"

Catherine jumped at the sound of Sara's voice, grimacing at the waves the action sent through her stomach. She nodded weakly.

"You don't look okay," she asked concerned.

"I'm fine. I just need a minute. Bad seafood."

Sara didn't say anything, but kept a wary eye on Catherine.

Catherine pushed off the floor and started to stand but a wave of dizziness hit her and she slide back down the wall. "Oh, God."

"Cath, you need help. I'll go get Nick-"

"No!" she groaned, her head did not agree with the loud, sudden outburst. She tried again, quieter this time. "No. Just," she took a deep breath and let it out. "Just help me up."

Sara glanced at the door a little longingly before stooping to help Catherine up. "You need to go home."

Catherine was quiet for a minute before sighing. "Yeah...uh, tell Grissom, well, tell him the truth. I got sick."

Sara shook her head. "No way are you driving home. I'll tell him _after_ I take you home."

Catherine looked as though she was going to debate the point, but she just nodded. "Ok."

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

It had taken Catherine a while to convince Sara that she was fine. But even then, Sara had made sure that Catherine had everything she needed to be comfortable, and some things she didn't. She'd done everything but tuck her in and kiss her forehead.

_Who knew Sara could be such a mother hen? _Catherine thought with a small smile.

The house was empty and quiet, Lindsey was at school and Catherine was alone. She sat in the living room staring at a day time talk show for fifteen minutes before giving up the pretense of being interested. She glanced at the phone, hesitating only briefly before picking it up and dialing a number from memory.

"Hey Roz? Yeah, this is Catherine...I'm good thanks. How 'bout you?" she listened. "Good. Hey, I know this is short notice but do you think you could come over?" she paused. "Yeah, today. Bring your stuff...Lecture me when you get here," she said with a grin. "Thanks Roz. Bye."

Roz wouldn't be there for about an hour. An hour where Catherine had nothing to do but think.

**A/N: -automated voice-You've now reached the end of the chapter, please leave a review after the beep. But first a teaser:_ Roz was gone, had been for about an hour,and Catherine sat on her couch deep in thought._ **

**_The notion had crossed her mind, but she hadn't dwelled on it. She couldn't. She was too afraid to. But now that there were no doubts, she'd have to face that fear. _**

**Thank you for reading (BEEP!)**


	7. All Things Revealed

**Disclaimer: CSI? Not mine. Not yet anyway. I'm working on it. Beta? Don't have one. Mistakes? All mine, sadly.**

**A/N: -rushes in with chapter- I am so sorry that it's taken so long to update but you wouldn't believe the case of the dreaded writer's block I had. I swear, you could hear the air blowing through my head. But I fought it off and this chapter is the result. Hope it lives up to your expectations. As always, thanks so much to everybody who read or reviewed this story so fara nd especially to those who did both. Much love ya'll. **

**Chapter Seven: All Things Revealed**

The door bell rang roughly an hour and twenty minutes later. Catherine had no sooner opened the door than Roz was set in on her.

"Don't call me in the middle of the afternoon talking about 'bring your stuff' and not expect a lecture. And it better not be the 'stuff' that I think your talking about either," she fussed making air quotes as she said 'stuff'.

"Hello to you too," Catherine said with a half smirk, noting not for the first time that Roz's Spanish accent was heavier when she was fussing.

Roz shot her a look and walked into the living room, sinking down on the couch. "What's going on Cath?" she asked.

Catherine tried another smile. "If I knew, would I be calling you?" she said with more lightness than she was feeling.

Roz stared at her silently for a moment. "No, you wouldn't. So you _do_ want what I thought."

Catherine gave a slight a nod.

Roz sighed and pushed off the couch. "Come on then."

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

Back at the lab Nick was headed to the locker room. He was exhausted. Beyond exhausted, actually. He, Warrick and Greg had just wrapped a doozy of a case, made even more hectic by the huge amount of media attention it received. Of course that was to be expected when a rising starlet was strangled in her luxury hotel room.

Warrick was sitting on one of the long benches that comprised of the rooms only seating. He looked as tired as Nick felt. More if you looked harder. And Nick was.

Warrick had not been himself recently, in a while actually, but during the past few days the change was even more noticeable. And as would be any good friend, Nick was worried.

Warrick's gaze was directed inside his locker, although Nick would bet his paycheck that it wasn't focused on anything. He didn't even look up as Nick walked in.

Nick opened is locker a little more noisily than was needed, his response a casual "Hey man" as Warrick finally looked up.

"Hey," he answered, subconsciously twisting the gold band on his finger. "Some case, huh?"

Nick let out a humorless laugh, "Yeah. Guy was so obsessed that he swore she knew him, wanted him, she wanted him. And when reality set in, and it wasn't pretty, he snapped." He shook his head, "People never cease to amaze me."

Warrick let out spurt of air that could have been a laugh or scoff or some combination of the two. "Yeah. Me too."

A silence followed, and Nick took the moment to examine his friend. Warrick looked drawn, displaying a fatigue that Nick was sure had nothing to do with the case. It wasn't so much physical as it was emotional. A wariness that emanated from the soul, not from the body.

Something wasn't right.

Nick reached into his locker. "Hey Rick? You up for some breakfast?"

The invitation was innocent enough, but there was an underlying to Nick's tone and Warrick knew this was not so much a request as it was an order. He eyed him for moment. "Sure. That 24 hour place?"

"I'll meet you there."

Warrick nodded and kicked his locker closed with the toe of his shoe before getting up and heading for the parking lot.

They arrived the laid-back driver within minutes of each other and seated themselves at a table toward the back.

It was past the peak breakfast hour so the restaurant was predominately empty, save for a few regulars seated at the count sipping their coffee and reading their Sun's and the obvious tourists chattering away in booths near the window.

The waitress, a gorgeous Asian woman whom Warrick assumed was trying to make it in the business, a dancer judging by her figure, appeared at their table bearing glasses of water.

Nick placed his order, pancakes, hash browns and a side of bacon, with barely a glance at their server, giving Warrick confirmation that this wasn't your usual friendly late breakfast. He ordered his omelet, Denver, and sat back, waiting.

He didn't have to wait long.

Nick wasted no time with small talk. "What's going on, man?" He sat back in his chair, arms crossed. "And don't try and tell me nothing, cuz I ain't blind."

Warrick let out a dry chuckle and a sigh. He glanced at his clasped hand as they rested on the table, the gold band encircling his ring finger mocking him.

Nick followed his gaze. His eyebrows shot up. "Something up with Tina?"

"You could sat that," Warrick paused, then decided to just come out with it. "Tina cheated on me...with David. I found out Tuesday."

Nick's eyes betrayed shock and compassion. "Jeez, man, I'm sorry," he leaned forward, about to say more but Warrick cut him off.

"Don't be. She's not the only guilty party."

Now confusion read in Nick's eyes. "Wait. Are you telling me...?"

Warrick held one of the coffee cups between his palms but made no move to drink it. "Yeah. I did." He could see the wheels turning in Nick's mind but he wasn't expecting the question he asked next.

"Who? When?"

"Who?" Warrick repeated. "Does it matter?" he asked, irritation evident in his tone.

Nick shook his head. "Sorry. Don't know why I asked that..."

Warrick sighed. "No, its ok. I just wasn't expecting-"

"Don't worry about it. I shouldn't have asked...Why'd you do it man? I mean, what happened?"

Warrick shrugged. "I don't know. It was a couple of months ago, it just happened. It wasn't like I planned on it happening."

A thought formed in the back of Nick's mind but he tucked it away for later dissection. "So what's going on with you two now?

The waitress chose that moment to arrive with their food. Nick and Warrick's 'thank you's' were perfunctory at best and nothing else was said until she retreated.

Nick ignored his food and looked at Warrick expectantly.

"Tina...Tina is at her parent's at the moment. We're," he paused, looking for the right word. "We're taking a break for a while."

Nick nodded slowly and watched the steam rise from his plate and fade into the morning air.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

Roz was gone, had been for about an hour, and Catherine sat on her couch deep in thought.

The notion had crossed her mind, but she hadn't dwelled on it. She couldn't. She was too afraid to. But now that there were no doubts, she'd have to face that fear.

She flashed back on the moment of confirmation for the umpteenth time.

"_Catherine, you're pregnant."_

She'd been thrown for a loop. It was one thing to have an inkling, a whole different thing to have if confirmed.

Pregnant. She was pregnant. _Holy crap_.

_Roz, better known to most as Doctor Rosalind Coronado, had eyed her with concern. "Are you ok with this?"_

"_Uh..." She didn't know. Was she? At the moment she just felt numb._

"_Catherine...if you're thinking about terminating-"_

_That had broken through the haze. "No! No. I'm keeping it."_

_Roz gave her a small smile. "Good. Are you ok? Aside from the shock of course."_

_Catherine managed a smile. "Yeah. I'm fine."_

_Roz nodded, she wasn't so sure, but she'd left it alone for the moment. "I want you to come in to the office for an official visit. I'd like to run some tests and go over a few things with you."_

"_Sure. Whatever you think is necessary. You are the doctor."_

_Roz smiled again. "Good. How's Monday for you? I'd see you sooner but I'm all booked up,"_

"_Monday's fine._"

Catherine's thoughts were interrupted by a loud growl coming from her stomach. She couldn't help but grin. She may not know what she was going to do about the situation, but right now she was going to scrounge up something to eat, although she'd avoid the seafood salad this time. After all, she _was_ eating for two.

**A/N2: I have such smart readers/reviewers. Bad seafood never crossed your mind as the reason Cath got sick did it? Hmmm, looks like I'm gonna have to work harder at hiding my clues. Anyway, here's your teaser and any feedback you feel the urge to give will be appreciated: _Catherine walked into the Crime Lab the next day feeling incredibly light. She didn't know why she was in such in high spirits, exactly, considering she knew that the upcoming months would be hell and that telling Warrick would be no picnic either. Not to mention all the questions and doubts she knew lurked in the darkness of her mind, but for the time being she was just content to be happy._**


	8. Business as Usual

**Disclaimer: Don't own CSI, don't have a beta, don't have an excuse for mistakes...Gosh, saying what ya _don't_ have so much can make you a little sad.**

**A/N: I felt bad for taking so long to update last time so here's chapter eight. That's two updates in the same day. Ok, so technically it's not in the same day, but considering I haven't been to bed yet, I think it counts. Hope you like the chapter. A little character interaction for you. **

**Chapter Eight: Business as Usual**

Catherine walked into the Crime Lab for shift the next day feeling incredibly light. She didn't know why she was in such in high spirits, exactly, considering she knew that the upcoming months would be hell and that telling Warrick would be no picnic either. Not to mention all the questions and doubts she knew lurked in the darkness of her mind, but for the time being she was just content to be happy.

Her smile was bright as she entered the break room. Warrick was making coffee and Sara was at the table, reading the paper. "Hey Warrick. Hey Sara."

"Hey Cath," Warrick said looking up from his mug. He looked tired. She'd have to ask him about that.

"Hey. Feel better?" Sara asked, setting the paper aside.

Catherine grabbed a chocolate muffin off the counter that obviously belonged to Warrick, tearing a chunk off and popping it in her mouth. "Much better, thanks."

Warrick raised an eyebrow at Catherine. "Want my coffee too?"

She grinned at him. "Nah, I'm good thanks." Sara laughed and Catherine focused her attention back on her. "Who'd of thought you could play nurse?"

Nick walked in on the tail end of her question. "Sara? Playing nurse? I'd love to see that," he said, waggling his eyebrows.

Catherine chuckled. "Down Nicky. I got a little sick yesterday. Sara took care of me for a while."

His eyebrows shot up. "Sara playing nurse for you? I'd _pay _to see that. Good money, too. Was one of those little outfits involved?"

Warrick laughed and Sara threw an apple at his head.

He caught it and wiped it on his shirt. "Thanks," he said, giving her one of his dashing grins and taking a bite. "Nice curve ball by the way." He turned to Catherine, missing the face Sara made at him, "What was wrong?"

She shrugged. "Bad choice of lunch," she replied, which was true enough. God-only-knew-how-old seafood salad _was _a bad choice for lunch, especially if you happened to be pregnant.

Warrick leaned against the counter, concern etched on his features. "You okay?"

Catherine gave him a small smile, meeting his gaze. "Oh, I'm great."

Nick watched their little exchange with interest. He and Sara exchange glances and he wondered if she picked up on the same thing he did. He'd have to ask her. "So," he took a casual bite of the apple, his words interrupting whatever it was that was going on between his co-workers,"I wonder what's keeping Griss."

As if on cue, their supervisor walked in the room.

"Sorry I'm late. Ecklie had questions about the Peterson case." He shuffled through the small stack of papers in his hand. "Ok. Nick, Sara, you've got a B&E at the Bellagio."

Nick tossed the apple core in the garbage. "B&E at the Bellagio? Doesn't that sound fake?"

Sara nodded as they headed out of the break room, "Yeah. Completely made-up."

Nick nodded and then looked at her and grinned. "So about that nurse's outfit..."

They heard a smacking sound followed by "Oww! I was just. Jeez, Sar'," and Catherine and Warrick chuckled.

Grissom's eyebrows rose, but he didn't bother saying anything. Some things just weren't meant to be understood, if you asked him. "Warrick, you've got a DB on G-String Row. Probable homicide, possible O.D. Take Greg."

Catherine chuckled dryly. "He'll love that..."

Warrick grinned and sipped his coffee.

"Catherine, you and I have a hit and run off the Strip."

"Good," Catherine said, and both men gave her a questioning look. "I've got a bone to pick with you," she said to Grissom and walked out of the room, leaving them to ponder.

She headed for the parking lot and checked the door of Grissom's Denali. It was unlocked. "Figures," she muttered and climbed in the passenger seat. For all his intellect, he could be quite the absent minded professor.

Grissom emerged from the building a few seconds later, his face betraying slight surprise at finding Catherine already inside his vehicle.

"You left it unlocked," she said, as he climbed into the driver seat.

He gave a slight nod and got settled in, sticking the key in the ignition. "What did you want to tell me Cath? What'd I do this time?"

Catherine chuckled. "Nope, all me this time." She paused a moment. "I'm just gonna come out and say what I have to say, but I don't want any lectures, ok?"

Grissom shot her a sidelong glance, his curiosity piqued. "...Ok."

Catherine took a breath, wondering where all that lightness went so quickly. "I'm pregnant, Gil."

This was one of those moments when she really hated his ability to keep his face completely blank. It was great in the interrogation room, but in real life it was incredibly irritating.

"Congratulations."

She eyed him. "Do you really mean that?"

He glanced at her. "Of course I do. Why would I say it if I didn't?"

The fact that he looked as if he really didn't understand the concept of falsities convinced her. "Well thanks. But I don't want anyone to know. Not yet."

"...Ok."

"And I'm going to need some time off eventually."

"Ok..." He glanced at her, deciding that a few questions did not a lecture make. "How far are you?"

"Two and a half months."..._and 3 days and 15 hours, but who's counting? _she asked herself.

"Uh, I don't want to intrude, but who's-"

"When he knows, you'll know."

Grissom nodded. "How'd Lindsey take it?"

Catherine glanced out the window. "I, uh, haven't told her yet."

He raised an eyebrow. "Hmm."

"No. No 'hmm' Gil. I haven't had a chance yet. I just found out yesterday."

"Ah," he said with a nod. "Sara told me about the bathroom incident. Does she know?"

"No. And I'd like to keep it that way. Like I said, I don't want anybody to know yet."

"Fine."

They rode in silence for a little while.

"So what're you going to do?" he asked.

She looked at him. "What do you mean? I'm having a baby. You push," she answered wryly.

He shot her a look, knowing she knew exactly what he'd meant. "After that, I mean. Then what?"

"I don't know," she shrugged. "I'll cross that bridge when I come to it."

Grissom had plenty more questions he wanted to ask but they arrived at their crime scene and his curiosity would just have to wait.

**A/N: Me again (duh, who else would it be). Don't have a teaser for you this time but I do have a suggested read to hold you over cuz knowing me its no telling when I'll update next. The story is called "The Bliss ofLies" and if I do say so myself, it is pure genius. It's written by _Sunset_, who reviewed chapter seven so you can click her name there. So take a minute and read it, I think it'll be worth your time.-waves-Until next time...**


	9. Just a Little Q&A

**Disclaimer: You guessed it. I own nothing. CSI included. So if you sue, you get nothing. See how that works?**

**A/N: I won't bore you with idle chit chat this time around, and that's because I don't have anything idle to say. Thanks to everyone who reviewed, especially Sunset for the props. And without further ado, chapter nine. **

**Chapter Nine: Just a little Q&A**

Inside a suite at the Bellagio, Nick and Sara were processing their scene. It was your standard B&E and they could've processed it with their eyes closed, though neither was willing to try such an approach. Grissom would hardly approve.

Nick finished printing and photographing the en suite bathroom that he swore was nicer than his apartment. He walked back into the main room where Sara was spreading print dust on an armoire, her back to him. He watched her for a moment, under the illusion that he was getting some supplies from his kit, and decided to pick her brain.

"Hey Sar?"

"Yeah?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder at him before turning back to the armoire.

He busied himself collecting swabs and the like from his kit. He made his voice casual, although he doubted that he wouldn't arouse some suspicion. "Have you noticed anything different about Rick and Cath?"

She gave him a longer look. "No, not really. Why?"

Nick shrugged. "I dunno. It just seemed like something was...off?" he said, the last word coming out as a question.

Sara turned to him, print brush in one hand, powder in the other. "Off? Nick, what're you getting at?"

He shrugged again, not meeting her gaze. "Nothin'. I was just wondering."

"Nick," she said and he looked at her, finding raised eyebrows and a smirk. "Did you really expect that to work on me?"

Nick gave her one of his heart-stopping grins. "I was hopin'."

She grinned back. "Not a chance. What's on your mind, Nick?"

Nick quickly went over his options. He'd never betray Warrick's confidence by telling Sara what he knew. However, his suspicions could be confirmed, or at the very least given more direction by what Sara may know or had inadvertently picked up on. A few seemingly innocent questions wouldn't cause any harm, he was sure.

"Well," he began, closing his kit and facing Sara, "it just seems like there's something different about them, ya know? Can't place my finger on what it is though."

Sara made a face Nick knew meant she was thinking, replaying snippets of their lives in her mind for hints of odd behavior. "I don't know," she finally said, a slight frown on her face. "I mean when they first got back from that case in no-man's land, things were a little awkward, but they seemed to get over it pretty quickly."

"Yeah," he nodded. "I noticed that too...Hey, about how long ago was that? Two months? Two and a half?"

Sara shrugged. "Two and a half, close to three. Why?"

Nicks reply didn't come quite quick enough.

Her eyes widened a bit and her mouth opened in an 'O' of realization. Nick could just see the lights go on behind coffee colored eyes. "You think something happened with them, don't you?"

Nick frowned slightly, "I didn't say that. I just said-"

"You just said enough to try and get information out of me."

Nick said nothing, which was enough for Sara.

"You _do_ think something happened. What? They got cabin fever? Had it out 'cause they went stir crazy? Or something else?"

Nick had another kind of fever in mind entirely, one of the jungle sort, but he just shook his head. "Sara, stop jumping to conclusions. All I said was that they seemed like there was something different about them."

"Yeah, but you were trying to pump me for information. And trying to be subtle about it too. C'mon. Nick, that by its self is suspicious."

"He shook his head again. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes you do. You're a horrible liar, Nick. Now what's going on.?"

Nick decided to take another route out of the hole he'd dug himself into. "Look, Sar. I don't know about you, but I'm going to finish processing the bathroom."

Sara stared at him, her eyes squinted slightly. "Ok. But," she gave him a sweet smile, "this conversation is not over." Nick offered no acknowledgment and left the room, admonishing himself to learn to keep his big mouth shut.

Sara grinned at his retreating back, taking pleasure in the knowledge that she'd succeeded in getting under his skin, if nothing else. She turned back to her dusting, but due to the mindlessness of the task, her thoughts were focused predominately on the conversation she'd just had.

What was Nick being so evasive about? If it had just been a fight, as she'd originally thought, then she didn't see the point of the secrecy. So, no, whatever it was dealt with something much larger than a little tiff. But what?

She watched the dust fall from her brush onto the red-brown lacquer of the armoire, thoughts idly running through her mind. She was in the midst of lifting a palm print when it hit her.

"Oh my God," she exclaimed, jerking suddenly upright. Later she'd be glad that the print had already been transferred to the tape.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

Catherine and Grissom's presence at the scene turned out to be perfunctory at best. Within minutes of their arrival, it came over the radio that they'd found the car matching the descriptions given by a dozen eye witnesses and with plates matching the partial license number one especially observant stander-by had remembered.

The driver had apparently driven himself to the hospital soon after fleeing the scene, having discerned that his left arm had been broken in the crash. Brass was already there waiting for clearance from the doctors to take him to the station.

Gil had deemed staying at the scene a "waste of time" due to the amount of cases on both their desks and was ready to leave soon after doing the prerequisite collection of evidence.

Catherine was in no disagreement with his pronouncement, despite the fact that it was a little odd that Grissom was in a hurry to do paper work. But she wasn't going to say a thing. If he wanted to do his own paper work for once instead of finding some way to pawn it off on her, then who was she to complain? She simply packed her kit and climbed in the truck.

Grissom climbed in as well, placing his kit on the back seat. "Did you want to stop somewhere before we went back to the lab?"

She glanced at him, an eyebrow raised. "Uh, no. I'm good, thanks."

Grissom merely nodded.

Those were the only words spoken between the scene and the lab. Not that either of them noticed. They were both lost in their own thoughts.

"I'll get you if something else comes up," Grissom announced as they walked through the doors of the LVPD Crime Lab.

"You know where to find me," she answered and they went their separate ways, he to his office, she to hers.

On her way she passed Nick and Sara, who appeared deep in conversation.

Catherine sent a "Hey" and a wave in their direction and it seemed to her that Sara stared at her a second longer than necessary before answering. Nick mumbled a reply and didn't quite meet her eyes.

_What's going on with those two?_ she wondered, allowing herself to speculate whether they had a little something going on between them before shaking her head.

There were no secrets in this lab.

Realizing the irony of that specific thought she smirked, hoping that her particular secret stayed that way for a while, or at the very least, until she figured out how she was going to handle the situation.

**A/N2:And there you have chapter nine. Hope it was to your liking. You guys have had such nice things to say so far and I'd hate to disappoint you. And this time I even have a teaser for you: **

**_"Hey...Warrick. It's me." There was a pause and Warrick stood stock still wondering what exactly it was Tina had to say._**

**_"I, uh, I just wanted to give you a call. See how you're doing." She paused again, and Warrick wondered why it was that he hadn't hung up. "Look, I know you have no reason to wanna hear from me but, I...I just wanted to let you know... _**

**And that's where I shall cut you off. I told you guys you're too smart. I can't give you too much or you'll know what happens. See what being smart gets you? Nothing. Nothing at all.**

**Edit: I was reading this to someone over the phone the other day and was appalled at the sheer amount of mistakes, typing errors, wrong word tenses, etc. that were in this chapter alone. I've fixed the ones that I saw but that doesn't change the fact that I posted a chapter, and probably the entire story so far, riddled with errors. Apparently, my going over it after I've finished a chapter isn't enough. So, that said, if there is anyone out there interested in doing a little beta work then I would really appreciate it. **


	10. Messages, Theories and Bubbles

**A/N: -slaps self on hand- Bad fanfic writer. Bad! Yes, I know it has been quite some time since my last update, despite my promises to the contrary. Feel free to slap me. I deserve it. However, I feel you should know that I had The Block really bad. That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it. And now, after about two weeks wait, the next chapter in -cue music- As the YoBling Turns. Jeez, I'm corny. Slap me for that too. Anyway,** **hope you're happy with the chap. I wasn't but I rarely am. If you want to let me know what you think by means of reviews I promise they will be given good homes in a special folder of my email account made just for them.**

**Chapter Ten: Messages, Theories and Bubbles**

Sara had been unable to get any information out of Nick, much to her chagrin. She'd given up for now, but only because shift had ended. She _would_ get what she was after. She was determined. And a determined Sara was a force to be reckoned with. She almost felt sorry for Nick. Almost.

Although she was annoyed that Nick wouldn't tell her what he knew, she was a little glad to have time to think about what had occurred to her at the Bellagio. She had to decide if it was really a possibility, not just some crazy, print dust induced theory. And a good night-er, _days_ sleep always put things in perspective.

She closed her locker and was headed out the door when Nick walked in. He stopped in the doorway, his expression weary.

"Calm down, Nick," she grinned. "You're off the hook."

He looked relieved and she laughed, brushing by him as she left. "For now," she added and the expression on his face had her grinning all the way to her car.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

Warrick walked into his apartment. It was dark, with only thin streams of light making their way through the cracks in the blinds. He didn't bother to open them or turn on any lights, he could see well enough to toss his keys on an end table and head for the bedroom. He was bone tired and if the table it sat on hadn't been on the way to his bedroom, he wouldn't have noticed the blinking light on his phone indicating he had messages on his voicemail.

He had half a mind to just ignore it until he'd gotten enough rest to understand what the hell was being said but procrastination wasn't his thing and he picked up the receiver, pushed a button and punched in his code.

"_You have three new messages,"_ came the automated voice. _"First message:_

'_Good morning Mr. Brown. This is Tracy Morris with The Star, wondering if-'"_

Warrick deleted the message.

"_Next message:_

'_Hey Warrick. This is Jeff, I just wanted to let you know I didn't get a chance to fix that leak yet. Something came up...'"_

Warrick blew out air in a 'hmmpf' sound and deleted that message as well. When it came time to actually do any work, his landlord always had something coming up.

"_Next message:"_

There was silence on the line for a few seconds and Warrick was about to delete this one too, thinking it was a hang up when a familiar voice reached his ears.

"_Hey...Warrick. It's me." _There was a pause and Warrick stood stock still wondering what exactly Tina had to say.

"_I, uh, I just wanted to give you a call. See how you're doing." _She paused again, and Warrick wondered why it was that he hadn't hung up. _"Look, I know you have no reason to wanna hear from me but, I...I just wanted to let you know...needed to tell you...I miss you...and I...well...I guess that's it. Bye Warrick...I love you..." _there was a sigh, and a click signifying the end of the call resonated in his ears.

His finger hovered over the keypad as he hesitated, unsure of what to press. It seemed an eternity before his finger descended.

"_Message saved," _came the voice within milliseconds of him depressing the button and he hung up.

He stared at the phone, as though the answer to all his problems lay within its plastic shell. Finally he shook his head and continued on to the bedroom, although he wasn't sure how much rest he'd be getting now.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

Catherine walked into her bedroom, glad that Lindsey had spent the weekend with a friend and she had the house to herself. She was tired beyond words but this wasn't surprising considering that after only an hour or so of paperwork Gil had poked his head in her office telling her to grab her kit. The remainder of her shift, all five hours of it, had been spent in the vast Nevada desert helping uncover a series of shallow graves.

Despite the coolness of the night, she had sweat, and sweat hard too. And sweat plus large amounts of dirt and handling dry, decomposed flesh equaled an extraordinary need for soap and water, and lots of it. That, combined with the dull ache in the backs of her thighs for squatting for such long periods of time made her opt for a soak in the tub versus a quick shower.

She barely noticed her keys and purse bounce onto the floor when she tossed them haphazardly on the bed, her mind was zeroed in on the spacious tub in her master bath.

She turned on the faucets, making the gushing water as hot as she could bear, and tossed in a few aroma therapy bath beads and bubble bath, deciding that if she was going to take the time to have a bath, she may as well do it right. Besides, Gil had given her the night off when she'd mentioned her doctors appointment for the following afternoon.

Noticing that she had a little time before tub was full, she twisted her hair into a loose knot and secured it with a hair clip from the counter.

Catherine turned on the radio, spinning the dial to a jazz station and sent a cursory glance around the bathroom, wondering if she needed anything else. She snapped her fingers in realization. A drink. That's what she needed.

She glanced at the tub again before heading downstairs to see what she could see.

Her lips quirked to one side as she surveyed her choices. Wine would usually be her first choice, but that would be a no-no for quite a while. This left her with the choice of flat Pepsi, Lindsey's personal stash of Mountain Dew, and some sparkling water she'd forgotten she had. And since caffeine was not one's first choice to relax, she reached for the non-alcoholic bubbly liquid, pouring it in a wine glass, she could still pretend after all.

She made her way back upstairs, making a brief pit-stop in her den to grab a novel she'd been meaning to start but never had the time. The bubbles were just reaching the tubs edge when she reentered the bathroom and she cut of the water, setting the glass and book on the far edge of the cool porcelain before stripping down to her birthday suit and slipping into the warm comfort of the water, reveling in the silky feel of the water and the bubbles against her skin.

She relaxed into the tub with a sigh, allowing the scents and soft, soothing melody of a piano, sax, and drum piece to overtake her senses, blocking out all thoughts, all reminders of the world and its problems. They could wait.

The wait wouldn't be a long one though.

**A/N2: So there was chapter ten. Don't know where that part about Cath came from, but that's what the plot bunnies wanted. And I've learned not disobey the plot bunnies. Think of it as a look into Cath's demeanor before all hell breaks loose. And here's your teaser: _Catherine arrived early for her appointment. The house was empty and one could only relax so much before going insane from inactivity. Especially someone in her line of work. The light murmuring of the women in the waiting room and the television tuned to HGTV would provide a change of scenery at least. _**

_**But her early arrival proved to be a blessing, seeing as one of Roz's patients canceled their appointment, and Catherine was bumped up.**_

"_**Ms. Willows? Dr. Coronado will see you now," called the professionally perky mass of red curls that sat at the receptionist desk.**_

**_Catherine stood, setting her copy of Baby Talk magazine back on the coffee table in the middle of the room. A few women glanced up, watching with little interest as she disappeared through the oak door leading to the exam rooms._**

**BTW, I said this in the previous chapter but it never hurts to say things more than once. I've proofed every chapter but apparently, that's not enough, as I've gone back to read this to a friend and noticed quite a few errors. It seems that even though I've been paid to edit stuff for other people, I just can't do it for myself, so if anybody is willing to give future chaps a quick once over, give me a holler. See you all next time around. **


	11. What to Expect When Expecting

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who's been reading and reviewing up to this point. I'm glad you guys seem to be enjoying this at least as much as I like writing it. Thanks to _Greggo Maniac _and _Sunset_ for the beta work and a special thank you to _Chickie Baby _for all your pointers and for going over this, not once, but twice. You guys rock! And now, here's chapter eleven for your reading pleasure. **

Catherine had arrived early for her appointment, and was now in the waiting room, thumbing through a magazine. With the house empty, she could only relax so much before going insane from inactivity, especially considering her line of work. At least the light murmuring of the women in the waiting room and the television tuned to HGTV would provide a change of scenery.

Her early arrival proved to be a blessing, though, when one of Roz's patients canceled their appointment, bumping Catherine up.

"Ms. Willows? Dr. Coronado will see you now," called the professionally perky mass of red curls that sat at the receptionist desk.

Catherine slid the copy of _Baby Talk _magazine onto the coffee table and stood, grabbing her purse, and moving through the waiting room. A few women glanced up, watching with little interest as she disappeared through the oak door leading to the exam rooms.

Roz met her in the hall. She looked every bit the part of successful, high-end doctor with her jet black hair pulled into a sleek, professional bun, flawless olive complexion and the skirt of a navy blue pinstripe suit peeking out from under her white lab coat.

"Catherine," she smiled, both her dark brown eyes and tone exuding warmth. "Nice to see you again."

Catherine returned the smile and they started towards one of the rooms. "You, too. But we've got to stop seeing each other in a purely professional capacity."

Roz laughed, a rich, throaty sound. "Hey, you know my number. Call me. We'll get together."

Catherine smiled. "I'll keep that in mind, but I won't mention that the same applies to you."

"Fine," Roz grinned."I'll call you." She gestured through an open door. "But now, we have some things to take care of." They walked into a deceptively cheerful room that for all its warm burnt orange walls, bright lights and colorful watercolor paintings, still had the cold, sterile feel of an examination room.

"Right," Catherine's smile faded; she was actually kind of nervous. "Well, let's do this then, shall we?"

Roz gave her an encouraging smile. "It won't be that bad. Promise."

Catherine raised an eyebrow. "Now where have I heard that before?"

Roz chuckled. "Fine, I take it back. It will be all that you imagined and more. Feel better?"

Catherine rolled her eyes and perched on the edge of the exam table. "Oh, sure. Much better, thanks."

"I thought that might help." She picked up a folder that had Catherine's name scrawled across the label in a feminine script and took a seat in a rolling chair in the corner. "Now, what I want for today is some blood tests, then I'll have Carol weigh and measure you, and then we'll do your exam, okay? But first I just want to touch on some things with you."

"Shoot," Catherine said, leaning forward slightly, forearms on thighs, her hands dangling between her legs.

"Well, I'm not gonna sugar coat anything for you," Roz told her, then grinned. "You'd kill me if I tried."

"You got that right," Catherine said with a trace of a smile. "And I know how to hide a body."

"Exactly my point," Roz chuckled, lightly. "Well, let's just cover the basics, shall we? You know that with women over 35, there's an increase in possible pregnancy complications…."

Catherine nodded and listened attentively as Roz explained about the slightly higher risks of birth defects, chromosomal abnormalities, miscarriage, pre-term birth, diabetes, stillbirth and an elevated chance of caesarean delivery.

It was a lot of information to absorb, and it hit Catherine that if she hadn't been nervous before, she would've been now. But she _had_ been nervous before and now she had the urge to run screaming into the afternoon sunshine. She mentally patted herself on the back for not doing just that and concentrated on not letting her anxiety show.

But Roz was a friend, and one smart cookie to boot, and she saw right through Catherine's facade.

"Hey," she said, getting up and placing a comforting arm around Catherine's shoulders, "no worries, okay? The risks are slight, like I said. Maybe a one in a hundred shot. Less when you take care of yourself, which I know you do. And even less than that when you have a good doctor, and, let's not kid ourselves, I am _the_ best," she said in a jokingly haughty tone before shooting Catherine a grin.

Catherine hesitated only momentarily before smiling back. "Yeah. I know. It's just..." she made a gesture with her right hand, her words trailing off.

"Scary?" Roz supplied. "Frightening? Unreal? Any of those ring a bell?"

Catherine let out a small laugh. "Yeah. Plus a few more."

"Yeah, well join the club. You should have seen me when I first found out about Sabrina. Talk about a holy wreck," she said, her eyes rolling skyward. "And _I _knew better. And I seem to remember you almost having a panic attack during your first visit when you were pregnant with Lindsey."

"Ah, yes. Good times," Catherine nodded, shooting a smirk at Roz.

"Exactly. And Lindsey was a gorgeous, healthy, happy baby who is now a wonderfully emotional and pouty teen," Roz said, giving her shoulders a squeeze.

Catherine chuckled. "Way to make me feel better, Doc, only to shoot me right back down."

Rosalind grinned and patted her on the shoulder. "C'mon. Let's go get those blood tests."

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

Roughly an hour and twenty minutes later Catherine was changing from one of those delightful little backless exam gowns and back into her clothes. Roz had left the room to, irony of ironies, give her some privacy, and as Catherine was pulling on her top there was a knock at the door.

"Decent?" Roz called, her voice muffled by the thick wood.

_Does it really matter?_ Catherine thought, but simply answered, "Yeah," and finished adjusting her shirt.

Roz walked in with a new stack of papers. "So, I'd say that everything is on the up and up. Your blood work isn't back yet; the lab's backed up. You know how that is," she said with a slightly exasperated sigh.

"Oh, yeah. I know exactly how that is," Catherine smirked.

"But like I said, everything looks great. We've scheduled you another appointment, you've got your ultrasound photos, and your exam was good," she said, ticking the things they had discussed off on her fingers. "I'd say you're pretty much good to go."

Catherine nodded. "Okay. Well, uh, thanks, I guess. And I'll see you in a few weeks. Maybe sooner. _If _you call me."

"Or you call me."

"Right."

Roz laughed. "But you're not getting out of here that easily. You know I want to know how Lindsey took it, so spill."

Catherine grew quiet and suddenly found container of gauze extremely interesting. Roz gave her a funny look.

"You _have_ told her, right?" Roz tilted her head questioningly.

"Uh…not yet," Catherine said slowly.

"Uh-huh. And why haven't you told her yet?" Roz asked, responding with the same slow delivery as Catherine.

"She wasn't home," Catherine said, her tone vague, even though she spoke the truth.

"Uh-huh. So that means you'll be telling her today?"

"...Sure," Catherine replied, though she look anything but.

Roz laughed at her hesitation. "You've gotta tell her Cath. And with girls her age, the sooner, the better."

"I know," Catherine sighed. "I'll tell her." At the look Roz was giving her, she hastily added, "Today. When she gets home from school."

Roz smiled and gave an approving nod and Catherine smiled back, even though her thoughts were on just how she would tell her daughter and the "emotional" teen's reaction. But telling Lindsey would be the easy part compared with telling Warrick. That was going to prove a much more difficult task, one that she was not looking forward to. But it needed to be done, and done soon and Catherine's stomach knotted in fresh anxiety at the thought.

**A/N2: And now for your spoiler. Not much but hopefully chapter twelve will be up soon. **

_**Catherine's thoughts were interrupted by the not so quiet closing of the front door. Lindsey was home. **_

_**She steeled herself, preparing the best she could for the reaction of the emotional hurricane in the other room. "Lindsey, can you come here a minute?"**_

_**If the loud and overly dramatic sigh was any indication, this conversation would not be an easy one.**_

_**Lindsey walked into the kitchen, dropping her book bag on the tile floor before dropping her self in the chair opposite her mother. Her expression could only be described as sullen, and Catherine wondered just what had warranted such an unhappy mood. **_

"_**Lindsey," she began, dropping her gaze to her clasped hands, "we've gotta talk."**_

"_**I didn't do anything," Lindsey was fast to state and Catherine eyed her with a slightly skeptical expression, making a mental note to find out what Lindsey had 'not done' later.**_

**Might not be an exact excerpt, but it's close enough. Let me know what you thought of this chapter, if the spirit so moves you and I'll see you all next time...Ok, so I won't _see _you but you get the point.**


	12. I'm Pregnant, What'cha Want for Dinner?

**A/N: Hey guys. Just a quick thank you to all of you taking the time to read this and especially to those who take the extra time to leave me a review. Huge hugs to Greggo Maniac, Sunset and Chickie Baby for the beta work. You guys are the best thing since sliced bread.**

**Chapter Twelve: ****I'm Pregnant, What'cha Want for Dinner?**

****

Catherine walked in the house with roughly thirty minutes to spare before Lindsey got home. She would have had closer to an hour but nerves or no, she'd wanted--really, really wanted--some ice cream, so a stop at Baskin Robbins had been warranted.

She now leaned against the kitchen's island, open pint of Jamoca Almond Fudge in one hand, spoon in the other, trying to figure out just_ how _she was going to tell Lindsey.

Several possible scenarios ran through her mind while she licked the inside of the spoon.

"Hey, Linds? Remember how you always wanted a little brother or sister? Well, guess what?" just wasn't going to work. Might've flown when Lindsey was six, but no way would she go for that now. Catherine smirked at the thought.

She absent mindedly crunched an almond and tried again, but "Hey Lindsey, I"m having a baby, what d'you want for dinner?" didn't strike her as too good an idea either.

She thought of a few other ways to try and break the news but none of them seemed right and soon the spoon thumped the bottom of the carton, bringing her out of her thoughts.

Glancing down, she saw that the ice cream wasgone, and only a milky, light brown layer remained.

She hadn't intended to eat the whole thing, especially considering that she'd just used up her caffeine allowance for the day in one sitting-or leaning, as it were. She gave a short sigh. So much for coffee later.

_Shift is gonna be a blast, _she thought sarcastically and moved to toss the empty container in the trash, thinking that 300 milligrams of caffeine a day was nowhere near enough.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the loud slam of the front door.

No more time to think, Lindsey was home.

She steeled herself, slipping into a kitchen chair and preparing as best she could for the reaction of the emotional hurricane in the other room. "Lindsey? Honey, can you come here a minute?"

If the loud and overly dramatic sigh was any indication, this conversation would not be an easy one.

Lindsey walked into the kitchen, dropping her book bag on the tile floor before dropping herself in the chair opposite her mother, resting an arm on the table. Her sullen expression made Catherine wonder just what had brought on such an unhappy mood.

"Lindsey," she began, dropping her gaze to her clasped hands, "we've got to talk."

"I didn't do anything," Lindsey stated quickly. Catherine eyed her with a slightly skeptical expression, making a mental note to find out what Lindsey had "not done" later.

"This isn't about you Linds..." She paused, thinking better of what she'd said. "What I mean is, that it concerns you, but not something you did...It's about...me".

Lindsey gave her a curious look, concern showing in her eyes.

"Nothing's wrong," Catherine quickly assured her, and Lindsey seemed to relax, the look of impatient indifference returning. Catherine chose to take solace in the fact that her daughter had been worried in the first place.

"What is it then?"

For a second, Catherine considered using the "I'm pregnant. Whatcha want for dinner?" line but kept her tongue in check. "Well, the other day while I was at work I got...sick-"

"Sick?" Lindsey interrupted, brows furrowed. "You said nothing's wrong." Her concern now crept into her voice.

"It's not. Something made me nauseous, ok? I, uh...threw up but that's it. I'm fine," Catherine said, adding the last part as much for her benefit as Lindsey's.

Lindsey looked doubtful but said nothing.

Catherine continued. "Anyway, when I got home I called Roz. You remember Roz?"

Lindsey nodded, brows knitting again. She'd met the woman a few times. Roz was a doctor and you only needed doctors when something was wrong.

Catherine paused, searching for words. This was a lot harder than she'd thought it would be.

Lindsey watched her, her own nerves starting to get the better of her. "Mom, spit it out. You said nothing's wrong. It's not like you've got cancer or you're pregnant or something," she said, rolling her eyes. Her tone was purposefully sarcastic but a bit of worry crept in.

Catherine blinked at Lindsey's comment, her eyebrows shooting towards her hairline, causing Lindsey's expression to become openly concerned. "You don't have cancer, do you?" she blurted.

"Uh, no, honey. No cancer..." Catherine said, her mind chanting_ just _say_ it!_

Lindsey let out a relieved breath. "Well, then what..." her voice trailed off and her eyes went wide. "Oh my God! You're pregnant!" exclaimed in disbelief.

Catherine nodded, reaching out to grasp the incredulous teen's hand. She was determined to stay calm, no matter how upset her daughter got. Just what good would the both of them being hysterical do anyway? "Lindsey-"

"What the hell, mom? How could you _do_ this? How could you get pregnant?" Lindsey asked, her tone disbelieving, eyes glinting. "You don't even have time for me _now_. How're you gonna have time for me with a baby?" Her voice cracked and the first tears finally flooded her lids, trailing down her face.

Catherine's gut clenched at her daughter's obvious anguish and she got up, circling the table. "Lindsey, baby, I-"

But Lindsey was hearing none of it and jumped to her feet. "No!" She shook her head, yelling now. "I don't wanna hear it. I don't care anymore. About you or that _baby_," she spat, raw anger and pain mixing with the tears. "Why should I? Nobody cares about me!" she screamed and rushed from the room, kicking her book bag aside in her haste, its contents littering the floor.

Catherine stood still, momentarily stunned by what had just happened, before heading after her. She was only a few steps behind, but the head start was enough for the girl to get upstairs to her room and slam the door, seconds before Catherine reached it.

She tested the knob, finding it locked, of course. She cursed herself for allowing Lindsey to talk her into letting her keep the lock in the first place.

"Lindsey? Open up," she called through the wood, trying to keep her voice calm.

"No! I'm not coming out!"

Catherine's gaze went skyward and she shut her eyes, tamping down the urge to scream. She summoned up her best 'I'm your mother and I mean business voice' and tried again. "Lindsey!" she called, and banged on the doorframe. "Open this door, right now!" she demanded.

A rock song blared in answer, loud enough to block her banging and yelling, and Catherine pressed her forehead to the cool wood of the door, forcing herself to calm down. Aside from limiting her caffeine intake, Roz had warned her repeatedly about the dangers of even minor stress.

Catherine considered her options, quickly coming to the conclusion that, short of breaking down the door, her efforts were a practice in futility. She told herself that Lindsey just needed some time to cool down and get used to the idea. She knew that eventually, Lindsey would come around. It was just a matter of time. She hoped.

She rested her forehead against the door a few more seconds before sighing and forcing herself from the doorway, the heavy bass of the music following her down the stairs.

She lowered herself to the couch, a long sigh pushing its way past her lips.

No stress? Sure, no problem...Yeah, right.

**Thanks so much for reading, as always. Hope you enjoyed the chapter. Lot's of drama from this point on. Leave a review if the spirit so moves you and as always here's your spoiler: _Sara arrived early for shift, though that was normal for her. Aside from Grissom, though, nobody else generally followed that trend, which was why she was surprised to find Nick in the locker room straddling a bench, one foot propped on the wood in front of him as he tied his shoe._**

_**"Nick. What're you doing here?"**_


	13. Sara the Super Sleuth

**A/N: So, so sorry for the long wait on the update. My computer came down with a cold and wouldn't even turn on. I had to re-write the whole chapter and have it done by today because I leave for New York tomorrow at 3:30 in the morning –shudders- and I didn't have time to have it beta'd this go around, so once again, all mistakes, errors and anything that makes no sense is all my fault. Hope you enjoy the chap, though I have feeling you won't like me much by the end of this one…**

**Chapter Thirteen: Sara the Super Sleuth**

**Sara** arrived early for shift, though that was normal for her. Aside from Grissom, though, nobody else generally followed that trend, which was why she was surprised to find Nick in the locker room straddling a bench, one foot propped on the wood in front of him as he tied his shoe.

"Nick, what're you doing here?"

"Uh, I work here, Sara. Have for a while now," he answered, glancing up from his laces.

She cracked a smile. "You know what I meant. You're early."

"That a crime now?" he asked, glancing at her again as he switched feet and set to work on his other boot.

She shook her head slightly. "No. Just unusual for you...Got something on your mind?" She asked, her overly innocent tone a dead give-a-way that she was not referring to just any something.

He pulled the laces tight then dropped his foot to the floor, looking up at her. "Come on Sar', give me some credit. That wouldn't work on a six year old." He shook his head and scoffed. "I'm not telling you anything, Sara. You can forget it. Besides, I don't know anything to tell." He shrugged and stood, turning to his locker, his back now to her.

She bore a hole in the back of his head, lips pursed, eyes slightly narrowed. "I don't believe you, but you already know that."

He glanced at her over his shoulder and shook his head again. "Don't matter whether you believe me, Sar'." He turned back to his locker. "Nothin' I can do to change that."

"Drop the bull, Nick. The way you were talking the other day at the Bellagio-"

"Sara, I was just making conversation. Stop reading everything into nothing."

She glared at him before coming to stand behind him, arms crossed. "Nick, I know you know something." He turned to her, crossing his arms across his chest, unconsciously mirroring her stance. "It's just a matter of me finding out what it is."

Nick's eyebrows rose. "And what makes you so sure that-_if_ I knew something-you could get it out of me?"

Sara gave him a grin. "Oh, I have ways of making people talk. I almost always find out what it is I want to know."

Nick's brows inched a little higher and he forced his attention from just how close she was standing to the matter at hand. "Oh, really? And what would these 'ways' be?"

Sara's grin just grew a little wider in response and Nick grew slightly uneasy under her unflinching gaze.

He was about to say something, anything, to redirect the conversation, when the locker room door swung open.

Grissom poked his head in saying, "I thought I heard voices..." His voice trailed off as he caught sight of the pair. "Nick you're here early. Something up?"

"Can't a man a just come to work a little early without people saying something must be wrong?" he asked, a little more heated than necessary, dropping his arms to his sides in frustration.

Sara did a half job of stifling a laugh, causing his nerves to rankle and he wondered just when Sara had gained the ability to affect him like this.

Grissom, looking mildly surprised by Nick's outburst, raised a single brow. "Of course he can, Nick. It's just unusual to see you this early."

Sara didn't bother trying to hide her laugh this time or have the decency to at least avert her gaze and Nick sighed.

Grissom's eyebrow went up another mild notch as he wondered just what was so funny. Dismissing it as not thoroughly important, he said, "But if you two are done chatting, I'm sure there are some cases in backlog with your names on them."

Both Nick and Sara nodded, though Sara looked decidedly more perky than Nick.

Grissom eyed them both for a few more seconds before turning to leave. Pausing when he was only a few feet from the doorway and without turning back he raised a finger and said, "And Nick? I suggest you tell her whatever it is she wants to know. Otherwise, there will be no peace for you."

Sara's grin grew tenfold and she her face positively glowed with triumph.

Nick's expression grew downright sour. He muttered, "Wipe that grin off your face. I'm not telling you anything."

Sara managed to lower her megawatt grin to a simple smirk. "I wouldn't bet on that. But right now, I do have a rape kit to see Wendy about. I'll see you later, Nick."

She was gone before he had the chance to say anything. Not that he had anything to say anyway. The lilting, slightly teasing way she had said his name had caused unease to settle in his stomach once again.

Ironically, it had nothing to do with her 'I wouldn't bet on that' comment. She cold hound him all she liked, there wasn't a chance in hell of him telling her what he knew. No, the unease had to do with something else entirely. But he'd be damned if he could place his finger on just what that _something_ was.

Nick exited the locker room and headed for the A/V lab, wondering for the second time in less than an hour just when Sara had started affecting him so much.

x

Catherine arrived early for shift as well, using a cold case she'd been working as an excuse to leave the house over an hour earlier than usual.

She looked like something the cat had pounced on a few time before dragging in. She was tired, tense, and it showed. The fiasco with Lindsey had left her emotionally drained but physically wired.

She'd gotten a few minutes rest when she'd dozed off on the couch, but that tease of sleep proved more of a hindrance than a help, leaving her irritable and with a pounding headache she could do nothing to abate.

Her already sour mood worsened when her locker refused to open. She uttered a few choice words that would've made a sailor blush, tugging at the locker handle to no avail. She muttered another curse and placed a hefty kick to the base of the new object of her discontent, leaving a dint in the inanimate offender and an ache in her toe.

She growled in frustration, hopping a bit, and having learned nothing from the fact that the big toe of her left foot was now throbbing, she delivered another blow to the locker's face with her palm.

"Having a little trouble there, Cath?"

The joking tone grated her nerves and she visibly tensed.

Greg, not having made it to a being CSI from a lack of observance, sensed the storm brewing beneath Catherine's exterior and quickly back-peddled. "What I meant was… I, uh…Do you, uh, want some help?"

Catherine quelled the urge to lash out at her younger, well meaning co-worker and not trusting herself to speak, simply stepped aside, gesturing for him to go ahead.

Greg eased past Catherine with care, mindful not to set off the bomb in a Dona Karen suit. He jiggled the handle, testing it, then rapped lightly on the metal just below the catch. There was a click….and the door swung open.

Catherine wanted to scream.

Instead, she managed a "Thank you, Greg" and smirked as the young man nodded and all but ran from the locker room.

She was sure that the entire lab would soon know she was in a foul mood, which was for the best. She knew her colleagues would give her plenty of space, only talking to her if completely necessary.

She chuckled slightly as she pulled off her black peacoat, revealing the black pinstripe of her cream suit, amused with the mental image of everyone in the lab running in the other direction as she walked down the hall. She hung the coat and her purse on a hook and headed off to see Hodges.

An hour later, her nerves had evened out and her mood had improved but you wouldn't have known it, judging by the way her colleagues avoided her like the plague. At that moment, Greg and Nick were as far away as possible from where she sat on the break room couch. They leaned against the counter talking quietly and sipping their coffee, trying to avoid her wrath.

Catherine smiled slightly. Even Grissom was regarding her warily after their brief encounter that night. He'd walked into her office, asking her something about taking his place a charity benefit that involved some major political figures. She'd shot him a look, didn't speak a syllable, and he'd stopped mid-sentence, mumbled an apology and beat a hasty retreat. She hadn't seen him since.

Sara, however, didn't seem at all concerned that Catherine was in one of "her moods," as Catherine had heard Hodges describing it to Archie when she'd gone to Trace earlier. She sat leaning forward a little, intent on the forensic journal someone had left lying on the break room table, absently brushing the tendrils of brown hair that fell into her face ever so often, obstructing her view.

Catherine studied the brunette's profile. Sara had never really been afraid of her, whether Catherine was in one of her moods or not. Sara had never been afraid of anybody really, at least, not that she let on.

Catherine's thoughts were interrupted as Grissom made his entrance, assignment slips in hand. All eyes were on him as his gaze swept the room, taking in everyone's presence.

"Where's Warrick?" he asked, his gaze resting on Nick.

"He's got the night off, remember, Gris?" Nick asked, eyebrows raised in question.

Grissom nodded. "Right". He paused and flipped through the slips. "Nick, Greg, you guys got a 419 out in Henderson. Domestic dispute gone bad."

"What's a domestic dispute gone good?" Greg piped up with a slight smirk.

Grissom shot him a look that said he hadn't appreciated his attempt at humor and Greg quickly dropped the smirk and took a sip of coffee.

Nick grinned and shook his head as Greg muttered something about Grissom needing to "lighten up a little," as they left the room.

"We've also got a decomp off Freemont. Catherine, I want you to…"

Grissom's voice was immediately replaced with Roz's, _"You know morning sickness occurs at times other than daybreak, so you do best to avoid things that can trigger it….strong odors, especially unpleasant ones…"_

Catherine thought that a decomp definitely qualified in the 'strong, unpleasant odor,' category and shook her head. Grissom paused, raising an eyebrow. Catherine, meeting his gaze head on, cocked her head and raised one in return; she was more than willing to engage in this battle of wills.

She won.

"Uh, you know what, I'll take the decomp. Catherine, you and Sara are headed out to Henderson, too. Missing person case. A Melissa Ethers. Her mother called when Ethers didn't show up for a visit. She last heard from her the week before last. Sofia is meeting you there." He handed Catherine the slip and left the room.

Sara raised an eyebrow, finding the entire wordless exchange she'd just witnessed interesting but she said nothing. She nodded and flipped the journal closed and stood, turning to Catherine. "You wanna drive?"

Catherine shook her head. "No, you go head."

Sara nodded and the two women left the room.

x

Warrick stared absently at the windows of the townhouse, not seeing the blue shutters turned a dark storm cloud gray with night or the warm glow of lights radiating from behind drawn drapes.

He wasn't quite sure what he was doing there. He certainly hadn't intended on parking across the street from the cookie-cutter home. He'd just had to get out to clear his head, to drive simply for the sake of driving, of doing something.

He'd been right in thinking that he wouldn't get much rest. He'd slept two hours purely because his body refused to stay active for a moment longer. He'd awakened to find that he had nothing to do to occupy his time. He couldn't go back to sleep, the apartment was clean, and internet and TV hadn't held much interest.

Though it was his night off, the first in a long while, he could have gone into the lab. They'd have been glad for the extra body, he knew, but for some reason he hadn't wanted to go in, and it had nothing to do with the fact that he'd s spent a measureless amount of time there over the past month.

So he'd gotten in his car and drove and before long he'd found himself here, in front of this house, staring at those windows. And he hadn't moved since.

It struck him suddenly that a neighbor, neighborhoods like this one were always full of busybody old ladies, might get suspicious and call the cops. The prospect was not one he wanted to see actualized and the thought was enough to spur him to action.

It wasn't until he was already up the two steps leading to the door and pressing the doorbell that he realized he not only didn't know what he was doing there but also that he hadn't a clue what he was going to say when the door swung open.

He didn't have much time to think of something before he heard the distinctive sound of feet padding across carpet through the white front door. A shape appeared, brown and pink and blue blurred by the texture and frost of the glass. A lock clicked and the door opened.

"You shouldn't open the door without knowing who it is. Especially at night."

Tina eyed him for a moment, one hand resting on the inside knob, the other on the edge of the doorway, effectively blocking the entrance. "I knew who it was," she said, breaking the silence and stepping aside, allowing him entrance. "I saw you when you pulled up."

Warrick nodded and stepped inside.

x

Catherine and Sara pulled to the curb of the middle class Henderson neighborhood. Old fashioned gaslight style lanterns at the end of every driveway illuminated the night with a soft ethereal glow. The air was cool and Catherine could see her breath as she climbed from the Tahoe's warm interior.

She raised the collar of her peacoat, wishing she had grabbed her down jacket instead as Sara slid the camera from the back of the SUV and slipped the strap around her neck.

Sofia's department issue Taurus was parked in the drive, a black and white cruiser, lights off, sat parked beside it.

"Looks like the gang's all here," Sara commented as they walked up to the front door, field kits in hand.

Sara knocked and an officer whose nameplate read _Stravinsky _let them inside.

"Detective Curtis is in the back bedroom. Down the hall, to the left."

They nodded their thanks and headed back, Catherine picking up a faint trace of _something_ in the air. It was a familiar odor, but one she couldn't put her finger on and she dismissed it.

Sofia looked up from where she was poking around amongst the items littering Ether's dresser, a hint of surprise showing on her face and in her greeting. "Hey." She turned to face them completely. "I was expecting Gil."

"I just bet you were," Catherine said with a raised eyebrow and knowing smirk. It was no secret that her long time friend and the former CSI were interested in each other, except maybe to them. "But you got us. Hope you're not too disappointed."

Sara suppressed a grin as a hint of color seeped into Sofia's cheeks.

The blonde detective took the teasing in stride, knowing there was no ill meaning behind the words. "Uh, no. You two'll do fine. Why don't we start with the kitchen? Looks like that's where all the action took place."

Sofia led the way back down the hall and towards the kitchen. The hint of odor Catherine had picked up on earlier grew stronger as they drew closer to the kitchen and she was able to pinpoint the smell. Garbage. And it had been there for a while.

Her stomach flipped and she reminded herself that she could be working a decomp right that second. Decomp versus garbage was no real contest in her mind, but her body didn't seem to appreciate the difference. The scent stuck in her nostrils and her insides felt like they were on tumble dry.

_Suck it up_, she told herself. There was no way she'd throw up at a scene.

Her body almost proved her a liar as they finally entered the kitchen and the smell augmented.

Sofia was right about the action having taken place in the kitchen. The source of the stench was spread all over the floor. Egg shells, an empty Pepsi bottle, a molded pack of cream cheese, what looked like Chinese leftovers and something that had probably started out life as a cow or pig or possibly a chicken lay covered in maggots, the white of the insects a stark contrast to the gray cast of the meat, and other kitchen debris spread over the tile.

A few plates, broken into predominately large pieces, littered the floor as well. A basket of molded fruit and vegetables sat on the counter next to a knife crusted with dried blood, though whether the blood was from what appeared to be a partially dissected chicken laying on a cutting board or something more sinister would be left up to the lab to determine.

"Whoa," Sara said, taking in the mess. "Definite signs of struggle." She lifted a finger to her nose in an attempt to block the smell. "I'll, uh, get started taking some photos. Cath, you wanna, uh, start dusting for prints or…?" She trailed of leaving Catherine to fill in what 'or' entailed.

She nodded. "Yeah. I'll start in the living room, dust for prints. Give you some alone time with this mess."

Sara simply nodded, setting down her kit just outside the kitchen's threshold and lifting the camera's sight to her eye.

Catherine and Sofia made their way back through the dining room to the living room. "I'll go back in the bedroom. See if I can find anything." Sofia hooked a thumb over her shoulder.

"Ok. I'll holler if I find anything worthwhile."

Sofia nodded and headed back down the hallway.

As it stood, none of them found anything that immediately qualified as probative. Aside from the blood covered knife from the kitchen and the other signs of struggle they really didn't have much to go on. But like good little CSI's (and Detective), they collected every print and fiber and hair and bit and piece of trash they came across. In their line of work, you didn't know what _was_ important, until you knew what _wasn't_.

By the time all the evidence was collected it was close to six a.m. and all three women were tired. Sofia headed back to PD to file an official report saying that foul play was suspected in the disappearance of Melissa Ethers before heading out to help out with a gang shooting that had left three dead and 5 injured.

Sara and Catherine headed back to the lab to log their evidence and fill out their own reports. Their night was far from over as well. Catherine wasn't sure how she was going to make it through the rest of shift, but Sara, the experience work-a-holic, seemed to know just what would keep her from passing out on the job.

They pulled into a parking lot, the familiar green and white sign glowed like a beacon, and Catherine could feel her body perk up simply at the thought of the goodies that were supplied here.

_Dear God, am I _droolingshe asked herself, reaching up to check.

Sara pulled up to the drive-thru and let down her window.

"Good morning, welcome to Starbucks. What can I do for you today?" came the discombobulated voice from the box. Even with the distortion, though, the girl sounded entirely too perky for Catherine's taste.

"Uh, yeah. Can I get a double shot of espresso with soymilk? And…" She looked over to Catherine to see what she wanted.

Catherine quickly considered her options. She glanced at the clock, it was 6:15, which meant that she could technically enjoy another three hundred milligrams of caffeine, but hindsight taught her a valuable lesson about how easily she could kill those three hundred mills in a single act of indulgence. She sighed and it physically pained her to say the next three words: "Just some water."

Sara raised an eyebrow at her. "You sure?"

_No._ "Yes."

"Um, ok." She gave Catherine a look that clearly said she doubted her sanity and turned back to the speaker. "And a water." The girl gave Sara the total and she thanked her before pulling to the window to pay and pick up their order.

They were back on the road, Sara happily sipping her drink, making Catherine sick as she sipped her water trying her best to imagine it as a low fat, soymilk latte with whipped cream. It wasn't working.

Sara glanced at her passenger before flicking her gaze back to the road. She wondered whether she should voice her suspicions. It wouldn't hurt and if she was wrong she could just say it was a rumor Hodges had started. Besides, Nick wasn't budging an inch and it would put an end to her speculations.

It didn't take long to make a decision.

"Hey, Cath?"

"Hmmm?" Catherine tilted the bottle to her lips.

"How far are you?"

**A/N2: So, how much do you hate me right now? A lot? A little? You want to chop off my head and feed it to your dog? Well, hopefully, it's not that bad but I promise, everything works out in the end. Promise. And in an act of good will, I will tell you this much: within the next few chapters Warrick will find out. Can't tell you when exactly, there has to be some element of surprise. No teaser this time, but come on this chap is 3,622 words not counting the authors notes. That's twice what I usually give ya and I'm tapped for brainpower ya'll, maybe the Big Apple will get those creative juices flowing. Until next time, adios, mi amigos. **


	14. Rolling Along

**A/N: This chapter is dedicated in memory of Tyesa Bowens. Love and miss you always!**

**Chapter Fourteen: Rolling Along**

Sara was glad she wasn't standing in front of Catherine when she voiced her question. Otherwise she'd be wearing the contents of the water bottle. She watched Catherine from the corner of her eye as the blonde pulled the wet fabric of her camisole away from her flesh.

Tthe water that had come shooting from Catherine's mouth, reminding Sara of the Bellagio fountains, was an answer in its own right. But Sara wanted confirmation from the proverbial horses mouth…well, verbal confirmation. Keeping one eye on the road and one on her passenger, she waited for Catherine's response.

Catherine was quiet for quite some time. She dabbed absently at the front of her top with the napkins Sara had gotten from the cashier and momentarily contemplated lying. She just didn't see the point, though. Everybody would know soon enough anyway.

Still, she hadn't planned on having another "I'm pregnant" talk with anyone so soon after dealing with Hurricane Lindsey, least of all Sara

She heaved a defeated sigh and turned warily to Sara, pressing a forefinger to her temple. "What tipped you off?"

"Well, I am a trained investigator."

Catherine raised an eyebrow, pushing some stray hairs behind her ear. "And that means what, exactly?"

Sara had known that explanation was far too simple and far too vague to appease Catherine. She paused, gauging just how much she should say about how she'd come to suspect the pregnancy. Maybe taking an investigative angle would make it hard for Catherine to deny the truth.

"Okay," Sara said, the word coming out slowly. "Since you have so little faith in my abilities, let's look at the evidence. You threw up right in front of me, and I don't buy the seafood excuse. Between you and me, Greg had, uh, _sampled_ some of that salad earlier and he was fine. You gagged—twice—at our scene tonight, which is something I've never seen you do, even with the worst of decomps. You haven't had a drop of coffee the entire shift, even though it's obvious you really want some. Plus," she paused again, glancing at Catherine's stomach, covered by the clingy silk of her damp cami, "you're getting a bump."

Catherine glanced down at her midsection, noting not for the first time that she indeed had the very beginnings of a baby bulge. She just hadn't expected anyone else to notice. The change was minimal and she doubted she would have noticed if she hadn't been looking for it.

She looked back at Sara, her expression skeptical. "And all of that means I'm pregnant?"

Sara glanced at her and flashed a grin. "No. That means I had a hunch, and you just confirmed it."

Catherine gave her a look but couldn't say anything because what Sara had said was true. Instead, she changed the subject. "Well, your master deductive skills aside, something specific must've clued you in. I mean, none of those things would've made the word 'pregnant' jump to mind. So, what was it?"

This time it was Sara's turn to grow quiet. She too considered lying, opting instead for a half truth. Or maybe a quarter truth.

She knew Catherine was waiting for an answer. Sara finally glanced at the other woman and was met with an expectant look. "Well, I was, uh…driving home after I dropped you off at home that day and this ad for First Response came over the radio and I thought to myself 'Wouldn't it be funny if she was pregnant?"

Catherine gave one of her patented nod-and-smile combinations and said, "Hilarious."

Sara smirked, absently noting that the story she told didn't qualify as any true percentage of truth, but she couldn't change tracks now. "Anyway, I, of course, laughed it off. But, the thought kept coming back to me and I started thinking there might be something to it. So, using my 'master deductive skills', I kept an eye open."

"And you came to the conclusion that I was?"

"More or less. But, like I said, it was just a hunch."

"And if you were wrong?"

"I'd just blame it on Hodges," she said matter-of-factly.

Catherine nodded. "Ah, yes, the old 'Hodges did it' defense. Usually works, 'cause it's usually true."

Sara grinned. "Well, he does start more rumors than he can possibly keep track of. He's worse than a teenage girl."

Catherine chuckled. "Right. But do you think we can keep this away from the lab rat grapevine for a while? I'd rather it not be a topic of discussion just yet," she said, imagining just what would happen if Warrick found out that way. She had a scary Jerry Springer-esque "That ain't my baby" moment before Sara's voice put an end to that unpleasant mental picture.

"Oh, yeah," she nodded. "My lips are sealed."

"Thanks," Catherine said, relaxing only slightly. The fact remained that if Sara knew, the rest of the lab would be sure to follow. Not because Sara would break her vow of silence, but because the Las Vegas Crime Lab was home to the nosiest busybodies in the world and no secret remained secret very long.

She had to tell Warrick, before someone else did.

x

Warrick awoke the following morning in a slight fog, the bright sunlight beaming directly in his eyes pulling him from a dreamless and less than fitful sleep, and adding to the disorientation he already felt.

He squeezed his eyes shut and turned his head in an attempt to escape the sun's powerful rays and found himself inhaling a familiar scent. A faint mixture of lilies and antibiotics flooded his senses, and as his consciousness returned to him bit by bit he also noticed that his face rested not on the smooth, warm surface of a pillow but on coarse, thick locks of hair, and that his arm was tucked snugly around a soft, womanly form.

The disorientation cleared away and he remembered where he was and why sunlight had managed to come through his light-reducing blinds. Those weren't his blinds and he wasn't in his home. It was the home of Wanda and Luther Johnson, Tina's parents.

He cracked open an eye, taking in the back of Tina's head, and waited.

When nothing happened he sighed. He didn't know exactly what he'd been expecting but he knew it wasn't this. He and his wife had reconciled and he felt nothing. There was no joy, no contentment, no feeling that _this was right_. He sighed again, shifting slightly so that he lay on his back and opened both eyes to stare at the light blue ceiling of the guest room.

He told himself that those things would come later, trying hard to ignore the niggling thought in the back of his mind that those feelings weren't _supposed_ to come later. And, though he tried not to, he remembered there had been a time when those feelings hadn't come 'later'. It had been a morning just like this one. The sun had shone merrily on that day as well, and he'd awoken just like this, inhaling a familiar scent, arm wrapped securely around a warm body next to his. There had been only one exception though….

That warm body was Catherine's.

He pushed the thought from his mind as soon as it formed. Or at least he tried too, but it refused to be displaced. He sighed again, the weight of guilt steadily taking root and he adjusted his position, bringing both arms to rest behind his head.

His movement must've disturbed Tina because she too shifted, turning on her left side, bringing her front into Warrick's view. He watched her face, peaceful in slumber, the guilt becoming more pronounced. She was his wife, the soon to be the mother of his child, and he was thinking about someone else.

He reached out a tentative hand and rested his palm on the protrusion of her belly, smiling slightly as she let out a little sigh. He was going to be a daddy and they were going to be a family. With newfound conviction he firmly pushed all thoughts of Catherine and their time together from his mind. This was his life. His future. He was doing the right thing, feelings of contentment or not.

Wasn't he?

x

When Catherine dragged herself into the house well after noon, she didn't think she'd ever been so tired in her life. If she'd been capable of rational thought, she would have remembered all those nights of double shifts and triple homicides, but she'd hit that plateau of sleepiness that was beyond reasonableness. She couldn't even find a reprieve in the fact that she'd racked up a decent amount of overtime.

She tossed her purse on the couch and headed for the kitchen because, as tired as she was, she was just a tad hungrier. She pulled open the fridge and was debating between a tin of moo shoo pork or sausage and mushroom pizza when a voice came from behind her.

"Hey, Mom."

She jumped, barely missing the inside of the fridge with her head and spun around, pressing a hand to her chest. "Jeez, Linds. You scared me half to death."

Lindsey's expression was sheepish. "Sorry. I thought you heard me come in."

Catherine brushed her hair away from her face with her hand and eyed Lindsey, her exhaustion momentarily on hold. "I was looking for something to eat. Wait, what're you doing home? It's only," she glanced at the microwave's clock, "12:53. You didn't skip school today, did you?" Lindsey was supposed to catch the bus whenever Catherine didn't get home in time to drop her at school.

Lindsey shook her head. "No. No school today. Some sorta teacher institute thing. I was gonna tell you yesterday, but…." she shrugged, the room going quiet for a moment as they both remembered the excitement of the previous afternoon.

"Oh," Catherine said, preferring not to rehash what had happened, especially considering how docile Lindsey was at the moment. She reached in the still open refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of water, pushing the door closed. "So, what did you do all morning?" she asked, lifting the bottle to her lips.

Lindsey hopped onto one of the four stools that surrounded the kitchen island and shrugged. "Nothing much. Watched TV, did a report. Played around on the Net a little."

Catherine nodded, silently thankful that Archie had installed superb security programs on the computer that kept Lindsey from getting to anything Catherine would rather her not see. "What kind of report?"

Lindsey shrugged again. "Some biology thing. Asexual reproducing organisms."

Catherine raised an eyebrow, remembering what her eighth grade science reports had consisted of. Something along the lines of _Mother Earth and Me_. "Really? Did you finish?"

Lindsey nodded. "Uh-huh…Hey Mom?"

"Hmm?" she asked, taking another sip from her bottle.

"Um, about yesterday," she began, dropping her gaze and fidgeting with a paper napkin that had been left on the countertop, "I'm, uh, sorry about how I acted. I shouldn't have done that and I just wanted to let you know."

Catherine smiled and took a seat on the stool next to her. "Well, I'm glad to hear that. Thought I'd lost you for sure that time," she said, only half joking.

Lindsey smiled too, although she didn't meet her mother's eye and continued to fiddle with the napkin.

"Hey…." Catherine said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. Lindsey looked up at her mother expectantly. "I promise that no matter what, I'll always have time for you. Truth be told, it may not always be when you want it, or expect it, but I _will_ have time for you. I know I haven't done the best job of it recently but I'm going to try and do better. It won't always be easy, and with the baby coming, things are going to get a little…" she paused, searching for the right word, "…hectic, but if you ever feel that I'm ignoring you, just let me know, okay? I'll do my best to fix it."

Lindsey nodded. "Okay."

Catherine continued. "Now, I want you to know, that I might not be able to drop whatever I'm doing right then but that doesn't mean that I didn't hear you. And as soon as I can, you have my word that I'll do what I can to make it right." She grinned, "Just don't expect the world to revolve around you, okay? Last thing I need is _two _babies in the house. Besides, Grissom and the rest of the guys spoil you enough."

"I won't, Mom," Lindsey giggled, resting her head on her mom's shoulder. "Hey, does Uncle Gil know?"

Catherine tilted her head so that she could see her daughter's face. "Yes. And so does Sara, but that's it, so don't tell anybody, okay? Mum's the word."

"Not even Greg?" Lindsey asked in a faux nonchalant tone, her attention once again on the half-shredded napkin.

Catherine raised an eyebrow and forced the amusement from her voice. Seems her daughter had a crush on the youngest CSI. "Especially not Greg. It'll be all over the lab in five minutes. All over Vegas in fifteen."

Lindsey giggled again. "Okay. I won't say anything." She jerked her head up and looked up at Catherine, her expression befuddled. "Wait, you mean Warrick doesn't know?"

The question caught Catherine off guard and this time it was surprise, not amusement, she forced from her voice. "No. Not yet. Why?"

Lindsey shrugged. "No reason, I guess. It just seems a little weird. You guys are like this," she said, crossing her fore and middle fingers to demonstrate their closeness.

Catherine stared at the crossed fingers and wondered just what Lindsey would think when she found out how close they had really been. She hadn't even considered the fact that she'd have to tell Lindsey that little tidbit too. She cleared her throat, thinking of all the times she pressed being honest and forthright with Lindsey. This could very well be a moment of truth, as it were.

Besides, this could be a practice run.

She licked her lips and pushed thoughts of a repeat of yesterday from her mind, "Hey, Lindsey? Sweetie? There's something else I need tell you."

**A/N2: Sorry guys no teaser for ya, I'm on the run. Many thanks to _Greggo Maniac, Sunset _and_ Chickie Baby _for the wonderful beta job. They've made this chappie what it is. Hope you all liked it and if you feel that urge to review, give in and click that purple button. As always your reviews are much appreciated!**


	15. Fade to Black

**A/N: My longest chapter ever! Enjoy! And thanks so much for all the wonderful reviews. I love them to bits. Sorry I didn't reply to everybody's who signed in. I was house sitting and they had dial-up and I just couldn't take the slowness. Thank you Greggo Maniac, Chickie Baby and Sunset for making this chapter what it was. They're the best beta's ever!Anyway, here's the chappie:**

**Chapter Fifteen: Fade to Black**

Lindsey sat up at her mother's tone and gave her a questioning look. "Now what? You're not having, like, septuplets are you?"

"God, no!" Catherine said, stricken. "Don't even joke like that. You almost gave me a heart attack!"

Lindsey laughed at her mother's horrified expression. Catherine didn't think having seven screaming babies in the house was anywhere near funny.

"Sorry," Lindsey said, still giggling. "It is about the baby, though, right?"

Catherine nodded. "Not specifically, but yes."

Lindsey, noting her mother's hesitancy, squinted in thought. "Is this when I find out that by some odd coincidence or something the baby is the spawn of that jerk Chris?" she asked, her tone and facing showing obvious disgust as she said his name.

Catherine cracked a half smile. "No, but you're getting warm." Turning serious she said, "Lindsey, you know adults aren't perfect. We make mistakes too. And sometimes, we do things we shouldn't—"

"Mom, I'm not six."

"I know. I'm just—"

"He's married or something isn't he?"

Catherine paused. "…Yes," she nodded, trying to gauge her daughter's reaction; Lindsey's face, however, remained passive. She got her poker face from her mother.

Lindsey's eyebrows slowly went up after a few silent seconds. "It Warrick, isn't it?"

Catherine's eyes widened. "Now guess my weight and you win a prize," she said, trying to cover her shock, though she shouldn't have been surprised. Lindsey _was_ her mother's daughter; she knew all about following the evidence. "What makes you think that?"

Lindsey grinned at her mother's confounded expression. "Well, for one thing, you haven't told him yet—which is like a big red flag—and it explains why you got all weird when I asked why he didn't know. I mean, you guys are close," Catherine swore she heard a little emphasis on 'close', but decided her mind was playing tricks on her, "so, I think that's the only reason you _wouldn't_ tell him, especially when Sara and Uncle Gil already know. Besides, he's one of the only married guys you know. So, what? Am I right? I'm right, ain't I?" To say Lindsey's expression was smug would have been an understatement.

Catherine sighed, not bothering to correct her daughter's grammar, and pressed a hand to her forehead. "Yeah, you're right." She looked the younger version of herself in the eye. "How do you feel about that?"

Lindsey shrugged. "I'm just glad it's not that Chris guy's. Besides, if you were gonna cheat with anybody, I'm glad it was him."

Catherine wasn't quite sure how to respond to that, so she didn't. She did wonder how Lindsey could take this news, serious as it was, in such stride, showing vague glimpses of the maturity Catherine knew lurked somewhere in the shadows of her psyche. Especially when, on the other hand, she was still quite capable of throwing torrential hissy fits worthy of the worst toddler over something as minor as not being able to have pizza for dinner.

_Teenagers,_ she thought.

Lindsey continued to look pleased with herself, having figured out her mother's secret, and grabbed an apple from the basket sitting in the middle of the island. "So," she said, taking a bite, "when are you gonna tell 'im?"

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Catherine corrected automatically before answering. "Probably tonight, during shift."

Lindsey nodded. "Cool. How do you think he'll take it?" she asked, obeying her mother and finishing her question before taking another bite.

"I don't know," Catherine responded honestly.

"You don't think he'll go all Maury on you, do you?"

"God, I hope not," Catherine sighed, doing the hand to the forehead move again.

Lindsey gave her a sympathetic smile and shook her head. "He won't," she said with absolute assurance. "Warrick's cool. I bet he'll be happy."

Catherine wasn't so sure about that, but she didn't bother to voice her opinion. No use spoiling the girl's optimism; in this world, that would come soon enough. If she had decided to share, though, Lindsey's next words would've stopped her anyway.

"He never should've married that Tina chick, anyway," she mumbled around a bite, and this time Catherine didn't even notice the apple clearly visible in Lindsey's mouth.

"What makes you say that?"

Lindsey swallowed the last of the apple before looking at Catherine with an expression much like one of her own: eyebrow raised, mouth fixed in a wry, knowing smirk. "What do you think?"

With that, Lindsey hopped off the stool and headed for the doorway. "Oh, yeah. Kimmi's mom said she'd take us to the mall. I can go, right?"

"Sure," Catherine answered on autopilot, barely seeing her daughter. "Be home by 8:30."

"I know," Lindsey said in what her grandmother had dubbed her 'teenaged exasperation' voice. "I'm gonna go get ready," Lindsey said and disappeared into the living room.

"Okay," Catherine said to no one in particular.

-x-

Warrick spent the day playing house with Tina and pretending to be as happy as she seemed to be.

Her parents had had long standing plans for an anniversary cruise, she was telling him, explaining why she had the townhouse to herself.

He nodded absently, rhythmically beating eggs as she chattered, busy flipping pancakes and making sure the bacon didn't burn.

His mind was wandering. Seems he'd lost all control of his mental faculties recently, which would've worried him, had he thought of it. Instead his brain was currently preoccupied with thoughts similar to those he'd had when he'd awakened that morning.

"Warrick? Warrick?" A hand passed in front of his face. "You in there, Baby?"

"Huh?" he asked, shaking his head slightly, as though to clear it, before giving her an apologetic smile. "Sorry. I'm a little tired," he said, noticing that she was done with her part of breakfast. His statement was true enough. He'd been operating on little sleep when he'd arrived yesterday and they'd stayed up into the wee hours of the morning talking.

She poked out her bottom lip in a playful pout. "Aww, poor baby. Well," her look grew more devious, "we _could_ go back to bed. Seems like we're a overdue for a little make-up lovin'," she grinned.

Warrick turned to face her, wrapping his arms around her, her stomach keeping him from pulling her too close, a barrier as it were. "We are, aren't we?" he said with a devilish grin of his own.

"Mm-hmm," she murmured, her eyebrows bobbing upwards suggestively, and she raised up on tiptoe, leaning forward and pressing her lips to his. The kiss was short, deceptively so and when they pulled apart neither was thinking about breakfast.

Warrick studied her face; her eyes, the curve of her cheek, his expression serious. The heavy lidded look induced by the kiss somewhat lifted from Tina's face, and she cocked her head to one side. "Something wrong?" she asked, the concern in her eyes belying her slightly husky tone.

He continued to stare at her, his gaze intent. He cared about Tina, he really did, and if the kiss was any indication, there was definite chemistry. So what explanation was there for that feeling of uncertainty…

"No, nothing's wrong," he said, as much for his benefit as hers.

Her grin returned. "Good. Now," she rose on tiptoe again, "where were we?"

-x-

Catherine arrived for shift feeling about as much conviction for telling Warrick as she had when she'd been talking to Lindsey. But if there was one thing she'd learned from Sam Braun, it was how to _act_ like she had all the conviction and confidence in the world, even if she were little more than a bowl of Jell-O on the inside. Pretty soon, one may even start to believe it.

At the thought of Jell-O, she instantly got a craving for the wiggly substance, something she found strange considering she hadn't liked the stuff since she was Lindsey's age. It usually just put her in mind of ballistics gel. She chalked it up to either nerves or pregnancy, quite possibly a combination of both, and made a note to check the community fridge. Greg had been spotted with the stuff every once in a while. She'd be in his debt if he had the red one; she could never be sure if it was strawberry or cherry. It never tasted like either one.

Catherine headed for the locker room, her stride purposeful, her demeanor cool, calm, and collected. Anyone who passed her would perceive that she was confident. No one would've guessed that she was about to break news that would completely change her life and the lives of those closest to her. No, they wouldn't have a clue. In other words: mission accomplished.

She walked into the locker room, surprised to find it empty. She wasn't early, nor was she late and the locker room was usually a hub of interaction. More often than not, there were at least a few people in the room, joking around or just talking, before shift really got underway.

_Maybe the rain's keeping everybody,_ she thought as she pulled off her coat, damp from the downpour that had been drenching the city since about 2:00 that afternoon. Shaking it slightly to rid it of clinging droplets, she hung it in her locker before pulling off her cap, black to match the coat, and tossing it on a shelf.

It was a random thought, though, since she was moving on autopilot at this point. Her brain power was devoted to one thing: when to tell Warrick…how to tell Warrick…what Warrick's reaction would be...and whether she would get through it.

For the when, she had an answer. The sooner in shift the better, if only for her peace of mind, because the 'how' and the 'what' were driving her nuts.

Proof positive: she'd forgotten to take her prenatal pills twice already and would've forgotten again had she not noticed a corner of the napkin she'd wrapped them in sticking from her coat pocket. She pulled the napkin from the pocket and made a beeline for the break room. She'd just filled her mug with water when Greg walked in.

"Hey," he said, his tone holding trace amounts of wariness.

"Hey," she returned, smiling brightly to let him know her mood was not a repeat of the previous day.

He visibly relaxed, crossing to the coffee pot next to the sink. Catching site of the pills—she'd set them on the counter while she filled her mug—he looked at her. "Wow, Cath," he said, and she mentally steeled herself, ready to explain if need be. "That's some huge aspirin you've got there."

Catherine laughed, from relief more than humor, and rolled her eyes. "They're vitamins, Greg."

"They're horse pills, Cath."

Smiled beguilingly at him, "Be that as it may, Greg, they're still vitamins."

"Yeah, well, don't call me when you need the Heimlich," he teased, leaning his hip against the counter.

"Funny, Greg," she said dryly. "Hey, tell me—you seen anybody? Feels kinda vacant around here…"

"Uhh…Sara was in the records room earlier, and I think Grissom's in his office."

"So Nick and Warrick aren't here yet?"

Greg shook his head. "Nope. Or at least I haven't seen 'em."

Catherine nodded and picked up the first of two pills. Popping it in her mouth, she took a few swallows of water, popped the other one and repeated the process. Winking at him she said, "Guess I won't be needing the Heimlich after all. Maybe next time, Greg."

-x-

Nick and Warrick walked into the Crime Lab together, having arrived at roughly the same time. They barely noticed how empty and quiet the building felt; they were too engrossed in their conversation. They spoke in low tones, Warrick doing the majority of the talking, until they reached the relative security of the empty locker room. Only then did they allow their guards to drop, if only to a small extent.

"So, you guys are all right?" Nick asked as soon as Warrick finished his 'just the facts' account of his and Tina's reconciliation. "I mean, you've worked it all out?" He'd been well aware of his friend during the short separation, and it had obviously weighed heavily on Warrick.

Warrick hesitated momentarily, before nodding. "Yeah, man. We talked. We're gonna work things out."

Warrick's tone was determined, but there was something in his eyes, and Nick, trained professional that he was, had noticed the hesitancy as well. He was quiet, choosing his words carefully as he shed his jacket and put it his locker. "Warrick," he began slowly, "I don't know, man, call it CSI intuition, but I'm sensing there's something else there."

He left it at that, his words and tone innocent enough that Warrick could make what he wanted of the implications.

Warrick was silent a while, turning to his locker to hang up his jacket as well. When he did respond, his tone was joking, "Man, you know you're not getting those details. I don't roll like that." Most would have accepted the statement at face value, but Nick knew better.

But he also knew when to concede a point. No sense flogging a dead horse, as it were. Warrick would just clam up for good. Instead, he laughed. "I dunno, man. I could probably tell you a few things."

Warrick blew out air in a laugh. "Yeah, right. That's why you're beatin' the ladies off with a stick, right, Nicky boy?"

Nick laughed. "Hey, man, just 'cause you don't see it doesn't mean its not happening. The absence of evidence is not the evidence of absence."

Warrick gave him a look. "You've been spending way too much time with Grissom."

Nick laughed again and it was this that Sara walked in on.

"Hey Nick, what's so funny? You open the fume hood too soon again?"

Nick glared at her, but there was no real malice behind it and she beamed in return before turning her attention to Warrick. "Hey Rick? I hear Catherine's looking for you."

"You know what for?"

She shrugged and shook her head, her hair bouncing from the movement. "Probably a case. I think she's in the layout room with Greg."

"Okay. Thanks."

She nodded as he walked past her and out the door, leaving her and Nick alone.

Nick remembered the last time they were alone in the locker room she'd tried to pump him for information and his guard instantly went up again. He eyed her, his gaze openly wary, his caution only increasing when she grinned at him. "Sara," he began, "I'm not—"

"Telling me anything. I know. But," she shrugged, "I wasn't going to ask you anything."

"Of course you were. You've been hounding me for days—"

"No, Nick, I wasn't. Stop reading everything into nothing," she said, purposefully echoing his own words of a few days past. Her grin grew at his expression of pure discontent. "I'll see you later, Nicky."

He watched her saunter out of the locker room, eyes narrowed with suspicion. She was up to something. And that bothered the hell out of him.

-x-

Warrick found Catherine exactly where Sara had said she'd be—in the layout room with Greg. He nodded a greeting to Greg, who stood over some photos of blood splatter from a scene Warrick didn't recognize. Catherine was explaining to the fledgling CSI the distinctiveness of splatter and cast-off, showing him how to decipher one from the other.

"Hey Cath. Sara said you were looking for me?"

Catherine, surprised, looked up from the photos, having obviously been unaware of his presence. "Oh. Yeah. Uh, Greg could you go see if Archie has something for me on the Miller case?" she asked in a polite, professional tone. Her gaze, though, clearly read "_GET OUT" _in all caps and Greg found himself fearing for Warrick's safety, and his own if he didn't make himself scarce somewhere along the lines of five minutes ago.

He cast a quick glance to the older man and Warrick gave him a nod and indicated the door with a tilt of his head. Greg need no more of an invitation and fled the room.

Warrick sighed, knowing from the way she'd dismissed Greg that this chat wasn't going to be of the light-hearted variety. Hell, the way she'd acted, he wouldn't be surprised if she said D.B. Cooper had appeared in her living room as the seemingly innocuous Sam Braun, brandishing bags of cash and talking about fleeing the country.

Well, ok. The Cooper/Braun thing may have been a _bit_ of a stretch, but he knew whatever it was, it weighed heavily on her mind. So it wasn't much of a surprise when she heaved a sigh bigger than his and slumped into a chair, resting her head in her hands. It _was_ disquieting, though. Maybe Sara'd been wrong. Maybe this had nothing to do with a case. And the full range of personal issues it could be put him on edge. "Cath, what's wrong?"

She let out a humorless laugh and he knew she'd closed her eyes although he couldn't see them. "That depends," she said, her tone drier than the desert in the middle of July.

He circled the table and took a seat in the chair next to hers, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. "Catherine, talk to me. Are you okay?"

The concern in his voice made her want to cry. _Damn hormones_, she thought bitterly and let out another mirthless snort of laughter. _No, I'm a friggin' mess, that's what I am._ "Oh, yeah. Just dandy."

Warrick looked at her, unsure if he'd ever seen her this…_whatever_ she was. Had he been able to read her thoughts, he would've agreed with her terminology, though never out loud.

His concern tripled and he was about to suggest that maybe she should go home for the night when she apparently pulled herself together. She looked at him and if he hadn't witnessed it himself, there'd be no way he'd believe that five seconds ago she'd had her face buried in her hands, despondency and cynicism coming off her in waves.

She took a visible deep breath, the only sign that she still felt some of whatever was bothering her moments ago. "Warrick…there's something I need to tell you," she began, and his face showed confusion. All those emotions she'd just gone through had something to do with _him_? What had he done?

Warrick watched her intently, waiting for her to continue.

She wet her lips, opening her mouth to continue. "Remember the other day, I told you guys about Sara helping me out while I was sick?"

He nodded, it hadn't been that long ago, and he automatically concluded the worst before reeling in his thoughts and telling himself to let her finish. Jumping to conclusions wouldn't help anything.

"Well, I went to the doctor and—"

"Warrick, there you are," Grissom said, causing both of them to jump. If he noticed they were in the midst of a tense conversation, it didn't show. "You, Nick and Sara need to head out to Summerlin. We got a 911 call punctuated with bullets. Kidnapping gone bad. Seems the baby-sitter was shot while on the line with the operator. She's 16. Neighbor heard the shots, went next door. Says the six-year-old girl is gone. Officers en route, they're going to need you at the scene. Sara or Nick can fill you in on the rest," he said, rapid fire.

Warrick stared at him, mentally taking a moment to jump from one demanding situation to another. This few second delay was unacceptable to Grissom, though, and he made this quite obvious.

"_Now_," he bellowed.

Warrick's shoulders dropped imperceptibly as he let out a breath and looked from Grissom back to Catherine, worry written all over his face. "Later, okay?" he asked.

She nodded. "That's fine."

His brow furrowed and he studied her face until he was assured that it was indeed 'fine'. This caused another short delay before he rose from his chair but he couldn't be concerned with getting yelled at by Grissom. Grissom could just be mad.

But the older man said nothing about this little postponement, perhaps having sensed the tension in the room. Whatever the reason, Warrick was grateful and he let Grissom know this with a nod that in man-speak meant 'Thanks. I owe you one'. Grissom gave an answering nod as Warrick walked through the door.

Grissom turned to Catherine, who was looking at him with a rather unhappy expression. He wanted to ask what was wrong, but he didn't think she'd tell him. Whatever it was he'd just interrupted was something she didn't want anybody else to be privy to just yet.

He decided to ask anyway. "Catherine, is anything wrong?"

"No. Everything's fine, Gil." Catherine forced a smile. "What you got for me?"

Grissom wanted to press the issue, something he rarely did, but he ignored the feeling. Instead he just nodded and handed her a file. "You've got another rape."

Catherine's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Another?"

"Last month, you caught a case. Nineteen year old beaten and raped. No DNA, no hair…" he said, trying to jog her memory.

She nodded. "Right. Cheerleader, wasn't she?" It was a question, but a rhetorical one and Grissom didn't answer. "UNLV freshman. Andrea Davis. On her way home from her parents, stopped for gas, perp climbed in the back seat and waited for his chance."

She opened the folder and skimmed the info, even though she remembered the case in detail. "So what's the twist on the new one?" she asked, studying shots of Andrea's apartment. The only room that had showed signs of something amiss was the living room, where the actual rape had taken place.

Grissom paused a moment. "This one wasn't lucky."

Catherine looked up at him. "She's dead?"

Grissom nodded.

Catherine sighed. "Where'm I headed?"

Thirty-five minutes later, after getting the particulars from Grissom, she was on I-15 heading for the Cabana Club Apartments, home of victim number two: Rebecca Trenton. On a map, the Paradise Road address was a little over twelve miles from the lab, a fifteen-minute ride. Twenty minutes, tops, give or take a light or two and maybe a Sunday driver.

The torrential rains and slick roads made for bad travel conditions, though, and had increased travel time. Visibility was low and anybody who wasn't insane, criminal, or chasing said criminals was off the roads.

Those who did brave the weather were driving like they actually had some God-given sense for once. The 'I can go faster than you' speed usually evident on I-15, unless a black-and-white was around, had slowed to an almost overly cautious pace.

Catherine wasn't complaining though. She hated to think it, but Ms. Trenton didn't have anywhere pressing to be, not anymore; _she_, on the other hand, had a family to go home to. Lindsey had already lost one parent and Catherine would do everything in her power to keep her daughter from experiencing that horror again. Then there was the baby to think about, and needless to say, she'd do whatever necessary to see it born healthy.

She flipped on her turn signal, maneuvering the Denali into the merge lane for I-215, her gaze flicking expertly from the rearview mirror, to the front windshield, and back, though she couldn't make anything out but headlights in the surge of rainfall. She sped up to pull in front of a semi-truck, dropping back to a modest 45mph when she was a comfortable distance ahead.

Her windshield wipers worked overtime but couldn't truly compensate for the amount of water they were up against. The constant, rhythmic patter of rain on the metallic roof and windshields had the strange affect of keeping her both attentive and calm. Up ahead she could just make out the bright red taillights of a vehicle—truck or SUV, she couldn't be sure, but the lights were too far off the ground to be a car—just beyond the shield of gray her own headlights were illuminating.

She couldn't see the sign, but she knew her exit was coming up soon and again she flipped on her signal, slowing to get into the correct lane. She noticed she wasn't the only one who needed the exit as the other driver slowed and their signal popped on as well, the speed reduction had made its body more distinct and with the help of a flash of lightning, she could see that it was an SUV crossing the white dashes separating the lanes.

Suddenly she heard a noise. It was muffled by the insulating effect of the rain, but she'd know the sound anywhere. She'd heard it enough during the summer months when people didn't get their tires checked as often as they should. The SUV's tire had just blown out.

The driver, unprepared for the sudden change in balance, swerved, the wet tarmac working against the brakes and driver in their vain attempts to right the car. It continued its horrific 260-degree spin, naked rim screeching horribly against the asphalt before coming to a stop only when its nose struck the cement of the right road divider; the resounding sound of metal slamming into concrete obscuring the sounds of the storm.

Catherine had reflexively hit her brakes, fear gripping her, as soon as she'd realized what had happened, but the pavement was no friend of hers either and she hydroplaned before heading into a spin of her own. She heard a horn blast behind her and had the detached, irrational thought that some people were just idiots. As though she could do anything to stop this from happening.

She'd been traveling far enough behind the other SUV but its twisting course had brought it back towards her. She reflexively braced herself for impact, wrapping an arm around her waist in a futile attempt to protect her unborn child as well.

Her reaction was not a second too soon; the Denali's front passenger side rammed into the rear side panel of the other SUV and she lurched forward, the air bag preventing her forehead from slamming into the wheel, but the windshield and passenger window had shattered on impact, flying glass striking her full speed. She immediately felt the warmth of blood oozing on her forehead and cheek, but she welcomed it and the roaring pain that splintered in her skull. It meant she was alive.

Unfortunately, the horrifying experience was far from over, though, and she'd barely sat back upright when the flash of headlights brought her head around to look. The other car, a minivan was headed straight for her.

She screamed, her fear morphing into abstract terror; then, there was a blinding explosion of pain and light before everything went black.

**A/N2: I promised drama. Did I deliever? Let me know whatcha think, I can't wait to hear your thoughts! Later.**


	16. Prayers Amongst Sirens

**Chapter Sixteen: Prayers Amongst Sirens**

_12:05a.m. Las Vegas Crime Lab_

It was an hour into shift and Grissom was, not at the scene of one heinous crime or another, but tucked behind his desk working his way through some forms Ecklie had been after him about. As he removed a form from the top of a pile that wasn't depleting nearly fast enough for his tastes, he wondered sardonically if his job was really to catch criminals or to cut through red tape.

A knock sounded from the doorway as Mozart's _Marriage of Figaro _reached a crescendo in the background. Grissom looked up; the first interruption of the evening causing only a slight knit of his brow.

Any irritation Grissom may have felt faded quickly at the expression on Detective Brass' face. The man's drawn features got a raised eyebrow and a look of intrigue out of Grissom. He obviously had news that was distinctly unpleasant.

Intrigued or no, Grissom held up a halting hand, pen poised between his index and middle fingers and resting against his thumb. "Whatever it is Jim, make it quick. I'm in quarantine," he said, using the same hand to make a sweeping gesture over the papers that littered his desk.

Brass' head was shaking before Grissom had finished speaking. "You'll have time for this," he began quietly. "About fifteen minutes ago there was an accident out on 215-"

"Jim, I'm swamped. Get one of the others to-"

"Hey, Gil, listen," he said, his words terse. "Catherine was in that accident. They're taking her to Desert Palm."

Grissom froze. The color drained from his face, his pallor now a ghostly gray.

"All I could get for now was that she was stable but unconscious." There was a momentary lapse as neither man spoke nor moved. "So, you coming or what?" Brass asked, gesturing to the door.

Grissom rose from his seat, and knowing that the question had been posed purely to spur him to action, didn't answer. He grabbed his coat from the rack near the door and pulled it on, grabbing his cell phone from its belt clip simultaneously.

"Who're you calling?" Brass asked as the two men made their way into the corridor.

Grissom glanced at him and pressed the device to his ear

-x-

_12:13 a.m. Willows Residence_

Sofia Curtis was not prepared for this type of situation. An astonishing fact considering that, as a detective, and former CSI, she'd consistently dealt with people on the worst days of their lives. She was the bearer of life-shattering news on an almost daily basis and interacting with the scum of society was her job description. And she was expected to do all this with a calm, professionally caring demeanor. Which she did, quite well, without losing her human compassion like a lot of the people who did her job. Dealing with addicts and murderers everyday had a way of desensitizing people.

Calm and professionally caring were the last things on her mind when her phone rang at 12:07 a.m. Wednesday morning.

"_Sofia?"_

_There was a pause as she struggled to place the voice, "Gil?" Confusion. "Uh, hey…"_

"_I woke you, I'm sorry."_

_Rustling sounds as she shifts beneath the covers. "No. No, it's fine. What's wrong?"_

"_You got along with Lindsey, right?"_

"_Wha-who? Oh…Yes. I suppose…" She ran a hand across her face, forcing her sleep-clouded brain to work. She squinted at the clock on her nightstand. He'd called her in the middle of the night to see how she got along with a colleagues' daughter? Why would he…_

"_Listen, they're not answering their phone-"_

_His distress evident, she calmly asked, "Gil, who_? Who_'s not answering their phone? You're not making sense." _

_The sound of a deep breath came over the line. "Catherine's been in an accident…"_

Such news usually would have brought on the mental mask that made doing her job possible, but tonight it had sent her springing from her bed and speeding to a house she'd only visited a handful of times.

As she repeated the words 6 minutes later, she still found them hard to believe herself; the gravity of the situation finally setting in only as she watched Lindsey's face collapse. She had to consciously stop herself from reaching for the sobbing teen, watching as she turned toward her grandmother's side.

Lily's own eyes were glistening with tears Sofia knew were held at bay only by willpower and only for Lindsey's benefit.

"I-I'll drive you to the hospital," Sofia hear the catch in her throat and swallowed hard, grappling with her own emotions.

Lily nodded, her hand rubbing consoling circles on the teen's trembling back. "Lindsey, sweetie, get your shoes on…"

Two minutes later they were hurtling through the darkened streets of Vegas toward the hospital, the only sounds the wail of the siren and Lindsey's sniffles. Scenery flashed by the windows, as repetitive as the light flashing on the dash, red then white.

Sofia was sure no one noticed any of it.

-x-

_12:11a.m. Summerlin: McComber Kidnapping Scene _

Warrick's cell phone beeped, the insistent polyphonic chime telling him he had a voicemail. He'd felt the phone vibrate two minutes earlier, but a missing six-year-old girl took precedent and he was interviewing a neighbor who may be the only witness. She'd been the one to find the unconscious babysitter and confirmed the girl missing.

He'd just concluded that interview, taken prints for elimination purposes and, after lifting fibers and other trace from her clothes, had sent the frazzled neighbor home with a female officer so that he could take the actual garments. She'd been "acting on autopilot" and had checked the babysitter for a pulse, effectively getting blood on her cotton pajamas.

He pulled the Motorola flip phone from the clip on his belt and quickly accessed his voicemail, pressing the phone to his ear.

The message was a simple, edgy command. "Call me."

He pulled it from his ear and looked at it with lifted brow, as though his questioning stare would lead it to tell him what was up. He pressed in Grissom's speed dial number, hit TALK, and waited for the call to go through.

"Grissom."

"Hey. You called. What's up?"

"Warrick, there's been an accident," Grissom began and Warrick initially thought he was giving him a case. Catherine's name, followed by "unconscious" and "Desert Palms" dispelled the notion and superseded everything else in his mind; Warrick was on his way to the front door before he'd hung up the phone.

Nick looked up as Warrick entered the living room, obviously on the verge of saying something, whatever it was instantly forgotten upon seeing the expression on Warrick's face.

"What's wrong, Rick?"

Sara, hearing the question, appeared in the doorway of the living room and study, her expression concerned.

Warrick didn't break stride. "Catherine was in an accident. They're taking her to Desert Palms." He paused, a hand on the knob of the front door. "Gris is sending somebody to replace us. You mind waiting for them?" he asked, though it wasn't really a question.

Sara nodded, as did Nick who added, "Of course."

Warrick was gone as soon as the words left Nick's lips.

Sara's expression was anxious as she stared numbly at the door. A thought struck her and her jaw went slack. "Oh my god," she murmured. _The baby._

She didn't realize she had spoken aloud until Nick looked at her, dumbfounded. "What baby?"

-x-

_12: 27a.m. Desert Palms Hospital & Medical Center_

The waiting room for the Desert Palms Emergency Room was far from a calm, comforting environment, as was the case with most emergency rooms across the country.

A woman keened in a corner chair, voicing her distress over the fate of a loved one, her despondent wails joining the whimpers of a small child, perched on his mothers lap, his head on her chest. She spoke soothingly in Spanish as she rocked him back and forth, periodically testing his forehead with her palm.

A few chairs away from the mother and child sat an older couple, probably in their sixties, and a young woman who looked about twenty. They spoke in low tones, the fatigue etched on their faces testifying to a long stint in the ER waiting room. Other people of varying races and states of distress dotted the large room, each in their own world of worry. Despite only a third of the seats being occupied, the room felt full.

The stagnant air of the already stuffy room conflicted with the manufactured cool of the air conditioner. A vile combination of blood, vomit, disinfectant, sweat and a cocktail of other unidentifiable odors adding nothing to the environment; an overall feeling of misery and despair topping off the atmosphere in this purgatorial hell hole.

Warrick noticed none of it though, as he strode quickly to the receptionist's desk at the back wall.

The woman, a Clairol-special blonde, gave him the smile she'd become accustomed to giving when dealing with the panicked, the despondent, the bereaved. A slight upturn of her lips that didn't quite reach her eyes and said _'I care, just not too much.'_

"How can I help you, sir?" she asked her tone only a little less detached than her smile.

"A woman was brought in, from an accident on 215. Catherine Willows." He spelled both names, more from training than actual thought. "I need to know where she is."

The blonde had begun typing as he spoke and raised her gaze to meet his. "There's no one here by that name. None of the accident victims have been brought in yet, sir. They should be arriving shortly."

Her tone was beginning to grate his nerves, though it was much like the one he himself used when dealing with the hysterical and duly stressed. Managing to keep his cool, he'd opened his mouth to ask when, _exactly_, would they get there when the automatic doors of the ambulance bay slid open.

He turned reflexively and was met with the sight of two male EMT's, a doctor and a female nurse guiding a stretcher hastily through the door calling stats as they went.

"Female Caucasian. Early to mid-forties."

"BP 80/50."

"Pulse at 55bpm…"

The rest of the information escaped Warrick as he caught sight of the reddish blonde hair spilling from the brace that immobilized her head and neck.

_Oh, God. _"Catherine?"

He was alongside the stretcher in a few strides, the sight before him dropping the bottom out of his stomach.

It was Catherine. He knew it, but his brain wouldn't process the information. She looked so…broken.

Blood caked an open wound on her forehead and more oozed from a gash on her cheek. Both eyes, closed lightly, bore deep purple bruises and her bottom lip was split and swollen. A barely perceptible periodic rising of her chest the only visible sign that she was still alive.

Her body was strapped rigidly to the stretcher, but her right arm was turned at a horribly unnatural angle despite the restraints. The right leg of her black dress pants had been cut away, revealing a blood soaked bandage midway up her thigh; the amount of blood on the dressing indicating an undoubtedly deep cut.

Warrick took it all in during the few seconds it took the nurse to circle the stretcher. "Sir, you need to step back," she said, taking his arm and pulling him back slightly.

He pulled his arm away but didn't move back towards the stretcher. He wouldn't get in the way of them helping Catherine.

His gaze remained fixed on the hurried procession until a familiar voice caught his attention.

"Mom?"

He turned, finding Lindsey hurrying through the patient entrance, Lily right behind her, a hand on her shoulder.

"Mom? Mommy?" her voice quavered and she broke free of her grandmother's grasp and rushed towards the stretcher.

Warrick grabbed her, pinning her wrists with his hand to keep her from hurting him or herself in her struggles to break free and get to her mother.

"Linds! Lindsey, it's me," he stressed, subconsciously wondering how a thirteen year old could put up such a fight.

"Where are they going with my mom?" she cried, her voice cracking.

"Lindsey…." A calm voice from Warrick's right and he looked up, surprised to find Grissom standing there. Gil repeated her name and gently pressed a hand to her shoulder to get her attention. "Lindsey, they're taking her to make sure everything is okay. It's all right, honey. It's okay."

She looked up at the older man, the fear on her face making her look like a little girl again. She knew Gil would never lie to her, and whether it was Grissom's soothing tone or the realization that Warrick wasn't letting go, the fight went right out of her. She buried her face in Warrick's shirt, shoulders shaking as she cried.

Warrick hugged her, unconsciously rocking back and forth, the movement slight. "It's okay, sweetie. It's okay. She's gonna be fine," Warrick soothed, his voice sounding rough to his own ears.

He felt Lindsey nod and prayed to God that he was telling the truth.


	17. And Then There Were Two

**A/N: This update took a little while to get done. Not as long as last time, but I'm still sorry for the wait. A big ol' thank you to my lovely betas _Chickie Baby_,_ Greggo Maniac_, and_ Sunset. _They deserve a big round of applause for putting up with me. And considering how very long it takes me to update, go get a fic fix by reading _Sunset's _new fics Victims and Clue. And don't forget to drop my girl a review! You won't regret it. And if you do, I'll play scapegoat. Deal?**

**And now on with the chapter:**

**Chapter Seventeen: And Then There Were Two**

Nick, Sara, and Greg rushed through the doors of the waiting room moments after Catherine was wheeled into an exam room. They cast a hurried glance around the busy waiting area, spotting Grissom, Warrick, and Lindsey standing near the receptionist's desk.

Sam Braun, whom Lily had called from the car, burst in almost immediately after them, his face a cloud of emotions varying from worry to fear to panic.

Lily was the first to see him and was at his side instantly, her hand on his arm.

"Oh, Sam," she began, intending to offer some semblance of comfort. Instead she found herself receiving it as Sam wrapped his arms around her. The simple gesture broke through the sheer will that had held her tears at bay, sending them coursing down her face.

"She's going to be all right, Lily. She's tough as hell, you know that," he whispered, his voice gruff.

By now everyone had noticed the new arrivals. Everyone except Lindsey, who was still clinging to Warrick like the scared little girl she was.

"Lindsey? Linds? Your grandfather's here," Warrick said softly and at first wasn't sure she'd heard him. "Linds?"

She shifted, turning her head in the direction of the doors. "Sam?"

Hearing his name, he looked up, his eyes lighting on Lindsey. A flash of pain shone there as he took in her pink nose, puffy eyes, and the pain held there. It was replaced with a comforting warmth as he gave her a small smile. "Hey Sweetheart."

Lindsey glanced up at Warrick before stepping from his loosened grasp and strode the few paces to Sam's side, leaning into him. He moved his right arm from Lily's back, wrapping it around Lindsey's shoulders, and placing a kiss on her forehead.

There was a brief silence as all gathered watched the embrace. Grissom, now aware that there were nine people standing in the lobby, gestured toward chairs in the waiting area. "Why don't we sit down? A doctor should be out soon."

-x-

Grissom, as was his way, had been right.

Only a few moments after they'd taken their seats, a doctor came through the swinging doors. He stopped at the receptionist's desk, speaking briefly. The woman nodded a reply and pointed in the direction of the group.

Warrick happened to be sitting on the bank of chairs facing the doors and was the first to see the doctor walking in their direction. Lindsey, Lily and Sam, sitting to his right, saw him next.

Grissom saw the four of them look toward the doors leading to the exam rooms and turned in his seat to see what caught their attention. Sofia, Sara, Nick, and Greg were sitting as a group a few seats down the row and looked up as well. Brass had gone to make a call to the sheriff.

Dr. Matthew Shilner stood before them, clipboard in hand, fatigue straining his features. Stress and graying edging in at his temples made him look older than his 43 years, but his air was one of confidence, a comforting trait to see in ones' doctor. He glanced at the clipboard and gave them a tired, but genuine, smile.

"Friends and family of Ms. Willows?" he asked, his eyes skimming the group.

A series of nods and a few 'yeses' were his reply; he nodded and cleared his throat. "Well, although her accident-" Warrick's eyes closed momentarily at the word and he felt Lindsey cringe beside him, "-was a bad one, it appears that she's doing quite well for the most part. Better than most actually. However, there are a few things I need to discuss with the family," he said, his gaze sliding from face to face before coming to rest on Sam and Lily.

"Are you her parents?"

Lily nodded, her grip tight on Sam's hand. "Yes."

Doctor Shilner hesitated for a moment and Lily figured she knew what he was going to say.

"Listen, Doctor Shilner. Anything you have to say can be said in front of all of us."

Shilner gave them a brief smile and took a deep breath. "Okay, no problem. Ms. Willows sustained quite a few injuries as a result of the crash, including a dislocated shoulder and a broken nose. She also sustained a few minor cuts and bruises, but those injuries are nothing to really worry about." He paused and took another breath before continuing. "Our main concern is the small tear in her spleen found during an ultrasound. She's being prepped for surgery as we speak and splenic surgery is minor. The surgeon will just be repairing the tear—"

"But wait," Lindsey broke in, her expression concerned, "is surgery gonna hurt the baby?"

The _what?_ Warrick's head snapped around and he stared at Lindsey in profound confusion. He obviously wasn't alone in his shock as the gazes of Sofia, Greg, Sam and Lily all landed on the teen.

Lindsey didn't notice though, her attention solely on the doctor.

Shilner gave her a warm smile. "Let me guess: big sister-to-be?"

Lindsey nodded and allowed a small smile of her own. "Yeah."

He nodded in understanding. "The baby should be fine. The fetus was also detected during the ultrasound and the surgery team has been informed. Your mom'll be under general anesthesia, which is considered safe for both mother and baby. And after the surgery, aside from bed rest, she'll be prescribed penicillin to prevent infection and ibuprofen for any pain. Both of these medications are considered quite safe for use during pregnancy and are often prescribed," he said, spelling it out for her in hopes of alleviating her fears.

The explanation seemed to placate Lindsey and she nodded, sitting back in her seat and leaning into the arm her grandmother placed around her shoulders. "Okay."

Warrick's mind was reeling; he'd barely heard the doctor's speech to Lindsey or his additional assurances to the rest of the group that such an injury was semi-common among accident victims and that the surgeon conducting the operation was experienced in the area.

Catherine was pregnant? His brain kept rejecting the idea, though there could really be no doubt. The doctor had confirmed Lindsey's statement and there was no doubt he knew what he was talking about. But still…Catherine was _pregnant_?

He shook his head, trying to clear it, and focused back on the discussion as Schilner informed them that the surgery would take between two and three hours.

"Until then, try to get some rest. Ms. Willows-" he smiled reassuringly, "-is in excellent hands.

The group thanked him and he returned from whence he had come, pushing through the double doors of the ER.

The group sat in stunned silence for about thirty seconds before Greg finally spoke up, voicing what most of the group was thinking. "Cath's pregnant? Whoa."

Sara and Nick exchanged glances—she'd been forced to tell him what she'd known in the car during the ride from the scene—but neither of them said anything.

The rest of the group remained quiet. Greg spoke up again. "Wonder why she didn't tell us."

There was a tired sigh from Grissom. "Because, Greg, she just found out herself, and I'm sure she'd appreciate it if you didn't speculate on the matter," Grissom intoned, his voice and gaze dry. "Especially out loud."

Greg, looking properly chastised, studied his hands in silence.

Lily however, was only slightly placated to find that Catherine had just found out about her pregnancy. Why hadn't she told her?

Sam squeezed her hand, knowing exactly what was going through her head. "I'm sure she had her reasons," he said, voice low so only she heard.

Lily squeezed back and gave him a tight smile. "I know."

-x-

They heard from the doctor again fifteen minutes later. By then Brass had rejoined the group, been updated on Catherine's status, and Lily had filled out the necessary hospital forms.

They watched attentively as Schilner informed them that Catherine had just entered surgery, and then strongly suggested they all get some rest.

"Catherine is going to need all of you for support. Surgery is hard enough to recover from without the added stress of pregnancy on the mind and body. That means that you all need to be well rested in order to be of any help to her. As a matter of fact, I suggest that you _all_ go home and get some sleep. As I mentioned, the surgery is at least two hours long and possibly quite a bit more. Even after surgery she'll be in recovery for a few hours, which means that you won't be able to see her for another five or more hours—probably closer to late this morning."

Noting the looks of hesitancy on all ten faces, he smiled. "Look, all I can do is suggest, but think of it this way: What good is it going to do Catherine to have ten very well-meaning people who can't keep their eyes open, let alone help her get better?"

He glanced around and added, "And before you think about it, these chairs are _not_ comfortable for sleeping." He gave them another smile and walked away.

Grissom sighed. "He's right, you know."

Greg nodded. "Yeah. Can't be much help if we're comatose." Thinking that may not have been the best word choice at the moment, he quickly added, "I mean tired."

No one seemed to notice his little slip as they mulled over the doctor's words.

"I'm not leaving. Not yet," Warrick said. "I got plenty of sleep yesterday."

Grissom opened his mouth but upon taking in the set jaw and unflinching gaze, knew he'd never get Warrick to leave.

He turned to the group on his left. "Sofia, go home."

Sofia drew back, ready to protest, but he raised a hand. "I know I woke you. Go home. Get some sleep. Warrick or I will call you the second she's out of surgery. If you want to come back then, you can."

Sofia eyed him, looking none-too-happy—with his bossing more than his reasoning. After a long moment, she nodded. "Fine. But if I don't get a call—"

"I promise," he said. "Take Lily and Lindsey with you."

Sam and Lindsey both spoke up at the same time. "I can take—"

"I'm not go—"

Sam glanced at Lindsey and she pressed her lips together, allowing him to go first. "I can take them home," he said, gaze traveling back to Grissom. "And wait with them there."

"I'm not going," Lindsey declared, voice and eyes determined.

"Lindsey…" Grissom began tiredly.

"I'm…not…going."

"She can—" Warrick held up a hand to squelch Lindsey's impending protest. "She can stay with me until Cath is out of surgery. _If_ it's ok with you," he said, addressing Lily.

Lindsey turned to her grandmother, eyes pleading.

Lily sighed. "That's fine. But after that you're coming home to get some rest." She said, her gaze as unyielding as her tone. "No arguments."

Lindsey rose with Sam and Lily, nodding. "Okay." She gave Lily a tight hug. "Thank you."

Lily kissed the top of her head, patting her back. "Hey, I understand, baby, I do." She and Sam both hugged their granddaughter, lingering in their embrace with her for a moment as much to comfort her as themselves, then left through the sliding doors at the ER entrance.

Grissom, that situation now amended, turned his attention to Sara, Nick and Greg. "You guys head home too. One of us will call," he gestured between himself and Warrick.

Sara shook her head. "I'm staying."

"Sara, no. You need rest."

"I'm fine. I—"

"Look, I know you couldn't have gotten much sleep. You didn't clock out until well after five and were back for the beginning of shift at a quarter past eleven."

Her eyes flashed annoyance. "That has nothing to do with this."

"Sar…." Nick touched her arm, getting her attention. "He's right. You need some rest. I'm wiped out, so I know you are, too."

Sara's mouth grew tight and a fight brewed in her eyes.

Nick quirked an eyebrow and gave her a look. "Sara…Come on. I'll take you home and I'll bring you back the second you're ready."

She stared at Nick for a moment, then dropped her shoulders in defeat. "Fine. Fine, I'll go home and I'll _try_ to sleep. But if something happens and I'm not here…" her voice trailed off, leaving them to imagine what she might do.

"We'll call if _anything_ happens."

She watched Grissom with narrowed eye before giving a nod. "Okay."

Greg, having agreed with the doctor anyway, didn't bother to add an okay of his own and simply rose with the rest of the group as they prepared to leave.

After the foursome left through the automatic doors, Grissom turned to Brass. "I can only assume you're staying."

Brass nodded.

"Take me back to the lab, will you? I need to get my car and some paper work."

Brass raised a questioning brow.

"Distraction," Grissom supplied, and Brass nodded in understanding.

"Let's make this a quick run, shall we?" Brass said dryly as the two men made their way to the exit.

Grissom didn't answer and they disappeared through the mechanically sliding glass doors, leaving Warrick and Lindsey alone. The pair were silent for a long while, lost in their own thoughts; Lindsey's relieved, Warrick's befuddled.

"Thank you," Lindsey said, effectively breaking the silence and Warrick's train of thought. He looked at her questioningly.

"For helping me, I mean. For letting me stay."

Warrick gave her shoulders a conspiratorial squeeze. "No problem. But I meant what I said about you going home after the surgery."

She nodded and gave him a small smile. "Okay. I know. I'm just scared; for mom and my little sister."

Warrick looked at her. "Sister?"

She blushed. "Well, I can hope, can't I? I mean what do you want it to be?"

"Me?" he heard himself ask.

She rolled her eyes and sighed with all the exasperation of your standard teen. "Yes, you. Do you want a boy or a girl?"

Warrick was thunderstruck. She'd just confirmed his suspicion. Confirmation changed everything. The baby was his.

He cleared his throat, hopefully forcing the shock from his voice. "What makes you ask that?"

Lindsey's eyes went wide. "Uh-oh. She didn't tell you yet did she? Oh shi-, I mean crap," she quickly corrected herself before nervously biting her lip. "Don't tell her I told," she pleaded.

Warrick barely noticed her little slip, though he agreed with the sentiment. Oh shi- indeed.

Noticing the panic in her eyes, he managed to push his own wildly out of control thoughts—the most demanding one being why Catherine hadn't told him—to the back of his mind and gave her a smile. "It's cool, Lindsey. Nobody's gonna be mad," he said.

She didn't look completely convinced but nodded anyway.

He wondered when Catherine had found out the news and figured he could pick Lindsey's brain. "Hey…Linds? When did she tell you?"

"Yesterday," Lindsey said, volunteering nothing else.

Perhaps that was why she hadn't told him. Could she have just found out?

He asked Lindsey that exact question.

She shrugged, thinking. "I dunno. She said something about seeing a doctor the day she got sick at work. I guess she found out then."

Warrick's brow furrowed. That had been close to a week ago. He'd talked to her the next day. Why hadn't she told him then?

Sensing Warrick had gone of into his own little world, Lindsey was glad the attention was no longer on her. She hadn't meant to blab; she'd thought her mother had told him. But he'd said everything would be okay, and she trusted him. Besides, he hadn't looked upset. Surprised maybe, but that was expected. So that was a good sign, right?

She consoled herself by staring at the news anchor on CNN, blabbing away on mute.

Within minutes she was sleep.

-x-

His brain on information overload, Warrick's thoughts jumped from one thing to another with no warning or order, though the end result was clear and unwavering.

Catherine was pregnant…With his baby…From an affair…An affair he had just reconciled with his wife about…And she hadn't told him.

His head hurt. And who could blame it? This qualified as cruel and unusual punishment, and his brain showed no signs of quitting its rapid-fire thought cycle.

He cursed lightly and immediately checked to see if Lindsey had heard, only then noticing she'd fallen asleep. Warrick hadn't noticed the slight pressure of her head on his shoulder or the soft snores issuing from her partly open mouth.

Hurting head or no, he couldn't help but smile. The normalcy of it, not to mention the cuteness, caused him to wonder if the girl's peaceful dozing was a good sign.

He decided it was and as he listened to her slumber, taking comfort in the fact that she felt safe and unworried enough to sleep so soundly, a thought occurred to him: he loved this kid. Couldn't help it, and who could? She was a pint-sized Catherine, with the pubescent version of her mother's feistiness.

He'd known her since she was a baby and couldn't imagine how boring his life would've been without the little spitfire begging him for everything from piggy-back rides when she was little, to secret driving lessons less than a month ago. The latter Warrick had declined because he was sure Catherine wouldn't have approved and he'd rather deal with Lindsey throwing a tantrum and being mad for a few days than evoking Catherine's wrath. He'd found the incident amusing then and it didn't fail to bring a smile to his lips now.

Another thought struck him and he wondered: would the baby be like that? Smart, and smart-mouthed, with attitude to spare? The thought made him smile. Or would it be more like him? Cool and laidback unless somebody went too far.

Or maybe the baby would be a nice combination of them both. Smart, cool and confident? Witty, observant and sassy? The range of the possibilities pleased him and he found himself anticipating just what the coming years would bring.

Lindsey shifted, muttering in her sleep and he glanced at her, noticing not for the first time that she looked like her mother too, which set in motion a whole new train of thought: Would the baby look like Catherine or him?

She would—he grinned, realizing he'd made the same assumption about the baby's gender Lindsey had—have his eyes, most likely. Genetics weren't arguable and the alleles for green were dominant. But he hoped the baby would get Catherine's smile. He _loved_ that smile…

Warrick was just noticing that thoughts of the baby had completely done away with earlier thought cycle and his headache when a new thought broke in, the way thoughts tended to do, and whatever happiness he was deriving from his thoughts was put on momentary hold. Guilt, something that was becoming an art for him, took its usual position front and center.

When he'd fount out Tina was pregnant, he hadn't gone through all the 'what-ifs' he was going through now and this worried him. Tina was his wife. He should have been going through the "my nose or hers" questions with his wife in mind, not his….his what?

What was Catherine to him? A friend, yes, of course, but what else? He would never apply the term 'mistress' to Catherine. She meant far too much to him for such a common, dismissive term and the other term being thrown around was too offensive to even think. So what was she?

He couldn't come up with an answer before he noticed with alarm that Catherine was again pervading his thoughts.

He told himself it was because he was she was in surgery. He was worried about her, and now, their unborn child. It was only natural, of course, that Catherine would be in the forefront of his mind.

It was all true. But it wasn't enough to stop the battle between worry, joy, fear and guilt from raging.

**A/N: So now he knows. Happy?**


	18. Torn

**A/N: Sorry this took so long, but both my brothers graduated this past week, and then there was their party and all the tiring things that throwing a party entails. I finally got a chance to sit down and start typing Wednesday. Anyway, this chapter hasn't been beta'd, although _Sunset _did do a quick read-thru, and I thank her so much for that. I didn't want to make ya'll wait too much longer, so if there are any glaringly obvious mistakes feel free to poke me with a sharp stick. Other wise, enjoy the chapter.**

**Chapter Eighteen: Torn**

The ride to Sara's apartment was a silent one and she didn't mind one bit. Despite her adamant protests, she really was quite tired. And Grissom's ordering her around had sufficiently pissed her off. Where did he get off, anyway? Bossing them all around, including Sam and Lily, telling them they should go…

Sara took a deep breath, stopping her thoughts before she worked herself into a mental frenzy. It was the stress, the exhaustion messing with her head. Logically, she knew that somebody had needed to take charge, and that Grissom was—again, logically—the best person to do so. But what one thinks logically and feels emotionally rarely agree and his actions continued to irk her.

She closed her eyes, hoping to preempt the tension headache that was throbbing lightly at the base of her skull. She didn't open them again until the car pulled to a stop.

The dark façade of her apartment building greeted her as she opened her eyes, the walls a dark blue-gray in the moonlight. The night was still and a chill hung in the air. Not enough for a down-filled coat but enough that she pulled the light jacket she wore tighter as she climbed from the truck, her breath white puffs evaporating into the night air.

She rounded the hood of the Denali, unsurprised to find Nick waiting for her on the walkway.

_Ever the southern gentleman,_ she thought with a smirk.

Neither spoke as they entered the lobby and, bypassing the elevator, took the stairs to the second floor. They stopped in front of her door and she dug in her bag for her keys.

She slipped the key in the lock and opened the door. "Thanks for dropping me off."

Nick nodded. "Hey, no problem. I was coming this way anyway."

Sara raised an eyebrow. "Nick…you live three miles in the opposite direction."

Nick shrugged. "Ok. How 'bout I promised to bring you back so I did. I had to keep you from throttling Gris. That would've been bad."

Sara rolled her eyes, before casting a glance down the empty hall, ignoring his comment. "I'm tired, but there's no way I'm gonna get to sleep tonight without at least one drink under my belt. You want a beer?"

Nick shrugged. "Sure."

She led the way into her apartment, heading straight for the short hall that lead to the bedrooms and bathroom. "You know where everything is. I'll be right back."

Nick helped himself to a Corona from the fridge and settled on the couch, flipping on the TV.

Sara returned five minutes later, dressed in a pair of worn, loose-fitting gray jogging pants and a black shirt that read 'Got Soy?' across the chest.

Nick glanced at her. "No fair. You got all relaxed and comfy."

Sara flashed a grin as she headed for the fridge. "You want a pair of my jogging pants and a t-shirt, be my guest," she said. Nick gave her an incredulous look as she made her way to the couch, flopping down with her beer in hand. "Besides, if I _really_ wanted to get comfy, I'd have taken a shower."

Nick leaned over and gave her a sniff. "You don't stink. 'Least not like the time with liquid man from the gully."

Sara's eyes narrowed and she gave him a raised-eyebrow-glare that would've sent most men back-peddling. Nick just gave her a cheeky grin.

"Wipe that smirk off your face, Stokes."

He looked thoughtful for a moment and shook his head. "Mmmm, no."

Her eyes narrowed further and she punched him square in the arm.

"Ow," he said mildly, chuckling and rubbing his bicep.

"You didn't smell so hot during that case either."

"True," he conceded. "But you're the one who gets all bent out of shape about it."

She rolled her eyes. "Most women don't like being told they stink, Nick."

"That's what makes it funny," he chuckled again, and got up. "Want another?" he asked, wiggling the empty bottle in his hand.

Sara downed the last of hers and handed him the bottle. "Yeah."

An hour, and two-thirds of a twelve pack later, the pair were sufficiently tipsy from a combination of fatigue, stress, and alcohol. Not drunk. Just tipsy. An old black and white film played on the screen, though neither was paying much attention to it. It could've been Abbott and Costello or _Psycho_ for all they knew.

Sara gazed at the amber liquid pooling to one side of the bottle, mesmerized. "I've only had four, right?"

Nick nodded. "Yeah. Same as me. Why?"

Sara shrugged. "Just checking. Don't wanna go overboard."

"Oh. Four is nothing."

"Yeah…I must just be tired then."

"You're feeling the beers, huh?"

"And you're not?"

He shrugged. "Not really."

She raised a brow.

"Okay. Maybe a little."

"You shouldn't drive. You can sleep on the couch."

"I'm fine to drive. I've driven after pulling a triple. This is a cake walk."

"You're saying things like 'cake walk' and trying to convince me you're sober?" she shook her head. "You're sleeping on the couch."

She rose and headed toward the hall closet, where she stored her extra linens.

Nick stood and went after her. "Sar' I'm fine. Nice that you're worried about me and all, but I'm fine."

Sara ignored him and pulled open the closet door. Nick straight-armed it shut. She turned to glare at him, but for the second time that night it had no effect.

"Sara," he said slowly. "I'm fine."

His breath was hot on her face and smelled of beer and some Cheez Doodles he'd found lurking unopened in her cabinet. The light from the table lamp in the living room didn't reach all the way into the hall and the shadows played across the planes of his face.

He was close. She could feel his body heat, and the arm he'd used to close the closet was directly above her right shoulder.

Her glare was long forgotten, and she was now all too aware of his nearness. Their proximity obviously wasn't lost on him either, and he shifted, though he didn't move away from her as she'd expected. Instead, Nick's body was now flush with hers, and she felt her breath catch involuntarily.

His head dipped slightly and she could hear that his breath was at least as shallow as hers. Sara licked her lips, which were suddenly very dry; her gazed drifting from his eyes to his lips and back. They'd been in the hall less than a minute, but it was feeling more like hours.

His head dropped another fraction of an inch and he paused, his face now mere inches from hers, and even in the semi-dark, Sara could see his eyes were much darker than usual.

He moved again, but this time there was no pause, no hesitation, and his lips were on hers. She emitted a sound that under different circumstances she would've denied had come from her. Now, though, she didn't much care and she wrapped her arms around Nick's neck. He took the movement as the invitation it was and moved his hands to encircle her waist, tugging her closer and she moaned again.

Then there was a loud _BANG!_

They broke apart, both noting absently that the noise must've been a gunshot in the movie. Nick ran a frustrated hand through his hair and backed up a step. Sara leaned into the wall, tilting her head back and shutting her eyes. For about thirty seconds, there was no sound but for their breathing and the muted voices coming from the TV.

"I should go," Nick said, his breathing still not back to normal.

"Yeah….Yeah, you should."

-x-

For the past hour, Warrick and Grissom had sat in relative silence. Lindsey was still asleep and Brass had been called to a scene shortly after dropping Grissom off. The former had left with assurances that he'd get a call as soon as anything happened, the latter had delved into the paperwork he'd retrieved from the lab, leaving Warrick alone with his thoughts, not something Warrick was especially keen on. His thoughts were leading him from one question to another and none of them seemed to have answers. At least none that he could come up with.

He tried in vain to focus on the talking head on CNN, but without the sound it didn't prove much of a distraction. What the hell was the point of having it on with the volume down anyway? Warrick shook his head, chalking it up as another of those unanswerable questions.

He shifted, trying to ease the tension in his shoulders without waking Lindsey, and although the girl didn't wake, the tightness of his muscles didn't lessen. He sighed, or at least he must have because suddenly Grissom was looking at him, his blue eyes impossibly alert for the late hour and the situation.

"Something wrong, Rick?"

Warrick shook his head. "No, I'm alright. Worried, but alright."

Grissom looked as though he didn't really believe him but he nodded and changed the subject. "Is your wife working tonight?"

Warrick's expression turned thoughtful. Had she mentioned she was working that night? He couldn't remember. Yesterday seemed so long ago now.

He shrugged. "I'm not sure."

Grissom's eyebrow quirked, and Warrick couldn't be sure whether it was in acknowledgement or question.

"I could find out," Warrick volunteered, unsure as to why guilt was settling in deeper and he felt the sudden urge to explain himself. Only he didn't know what he'd be explaining.

Grissom gave a short nod. "I'll keep an eye on Lindsey while you're gone. If you go that is."

Warrick nodded and glanced at Lindsey, wondering just how he was going to move without her hitting the floor face first. Grissom gave a small smile, obviously sensing Warrick's dilemma. He got up and moved to the empty seat beside Lindsey. Warrick gave him a quick thank-you nod and eased Lindsey from his shoulder to Grissom's. Lindsey made a soft noise before sighing and settling into her Uncle Gil's shoulder. Both men smiled briefly and Warrick rose from his seat.

"I'll be back," he said.

Grissom nodded, turning his attention back to his paperwork.

Warrick took off towards the nearest bank of elevators. Unless something came up at the last instant, Tina could usually be found in Pediatrics, located on the hospital's fourth floor, just one floor above Surgery.

The shiny metal doors slid open with a soft _ping!_ He set foot on the clean white tiles, finding himself surrounded by brilliant yellow walls with cobalt blue trim, a feeble attempt to give the depressing, sterile place some cheer.

He supposed, as he had almost every time he'd set foot on this floor, that had he been eight he might have found the bright walls and kid-friendly decorations comforting, which was indeed the point. But as an adult he saw past the excellent lighting, the toy box and plastic Little Tikes table in the waiting room, and the nurses dressed in bright, cartoon-laden uniforms.

He saw the ventilators, the IV's, the pale, drawn little faces. Heard the coughs, miserable little moans and sniffles, the blessedly steady beeps of heart monitors. He knew what really went on behind those perky, blue, yellow, and pink curtains, and this knowledge sobered him, as it never failed to do. It was this sobering effect that kept him from fully returning the dark haired, youthful receptionists smile as she asked if she could be of help.

Aside from reception, the corridors, and the waiting area, the floor was dark, all the young patients asleep, or trying vainly to get there. Warrick tried not to think of the poor bedridden kids tucked away behind the curtains as he asked for Tina. His nerves were already raw and irritated and he wasn't sure how much more damage they could take.

The nurse smiled again and pointed down a corridor. "She went to the supply closet. Down that hall, to your left."

Warrick gave her a nod and thanked her, heading down the appointed hall. He'd just reached the door marked with a plastic plaque on the wall that said 'Supplies' in English, Spanish, and Braille. He paused when he heard voices from inside. A man and a woman, both loud, on the verge of yelling.

He was debating whether to just open up and see who was inside when something stopped him cold.

The man _was_ yelling now, his words muffled only slightly by the door. "—You know as well as I do that it could be mine. Hell, chances are _better_ that it's mine."

"David—" the woman's voice—Tina's voice?—broke in but the guy he now knew as David cut her off.

Warrick stood in disbelieving silence, there had to be a zillion David's at the hospital. It wasn't an uncommon name. And the woman's voice? It couldn't be Tina's…

"You know we were together a hundred more times than you were ever with him. You _know_ it. Look me in the eye and tell me you don't think that kid is mine?" David had stopped yelling, but was still loud enough to hear.

There was quiet followed by some words from the woman that Warrick couldn't make out and the man sighed.

"Come on, Tina. You know that's crap. If that baby is mine, and I know it is, there's no way I'm gonna just sit back and let you keep me from it."

It was Tina. His Tina.

Warrick was stunned. He felt the doorknob turn in his grasp, saw the oak paneled door swing inward, revealing a walk-in storage closet stocked with bedpans, gauze, and sterile swabs.

Both occupants of the room turned to look at Warrick. Tina's jaw went slack, and David flushed red. They stared at each other in a moment of profound silence.

Tina finally spoke up, taking a step towards him. "Baby, I—"

Warrick held up a hand, cutting her off with a humorless laugh. His voice was cold when he spoke, his tone eerily conversational. "Don't Tina." He shook his head. "Don't 'baby' me. Matter of fact, don't say anything to me. We have nothing to talk about."

He addressed David. "You want her? Congratulations, she's yours. Good luck, you'll need it."

He turned in the doorway, stopping before he took a step. Without turning back he said, "I'll get you the divorce papers as soon as I can."

Warrick retraced his steps back down the hall, smiling reflexively at the receptionist as he passed her desk. He wasn't sure his brain had fully processed that it was over and he wondered when realization would truly dawn. For now, though, his waterlogged brain was having difficulty grasping the reality of it.

He took the elevator back down to the first floor, stepping from it small space into an almost empty hallway. An orderly and doctor stood talking at one end of the hall. A nurse strode quickly along the opposite wall, her gaze glued to a chart. Warrick brushed past her going in the opposite direction and was back at his seat in a minute.

Grissom look up. "That was fast. Did you find her?"

Warrick shrugged and said simply, "Tina was busy."

Again Grissom looked as though he didn't believe him. And again, he simply nodded and turned his attention back to his pile of seemingly never-ending paperwork. Warrick took his seat just as Lindsey stirred. She shifted so that her head was once again nestled on Warrick's shoulder.

He heard her sleepily smack her lips twice as she tried to get in a more comfortable position.

"How long was I sleep?" she asked, eyes closed. Warrick was sure that she wasn't truly awake.

"About an hour and forty minutes," Grissom volunteered, not looking up.

"Oh," she said softly, and within a minute she was back to sleep.

And again, Warrick was left to his thoughts.

-x-

Roughly an hour and a half later, Doctor Schilner walked through the swinging double doors leading from the ER. Another doctor wearing dark teal scrubs was with him, a smile on her pretty, if slightly tired, face.

Warrick perked up. He'd been in a sort of limbo for the past seventy-nine minutes but the smile spread across Schilner's face was enough to bring him out of it. He looked over to see that Grissom was also sitting straighter in his chair, his eyes riveted on the approaching doctors.

Warrick woke Lindsey, slightly amused at the disorientation that flashed across her features before she remembered just where she was. She turned in her seat, stretching and rubbing an eye, joining Grissom and Warrick in their anticipation of what the doctors had to say.

Dr. Schilner didn't keep them waiting long.

"Mr. Grissom, Lindsey, Mr. Brown," he said, addressing them each in turn, "the surgery went great. Better than expected. Ms. Willows is awake and doing fine, although she's still groggy from the anesthesia. She's already been moved to a private room in recovery and you should be able to see her briefly in about an hour."

Warrick released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He felt the tension in his body ease as relief flooded through him. He half noticed that both Grissom and Lindsey's faces spoke of tremendous relief.

Schilner reached out, touching the other doctor's elbow. "This is Rebecca Wolf, the phenomenal surgeon who performed the procedure."

The woman grinned showing bright white teeth. "Don't give me too much credit. Ms. Willows is an amazing fighter. She's not going anywhere for a long time."

Lindsey grinned at that. "Good."

**A/N2: So….What do you think?**


	19. The Eye's Have It

**Disclaimer: Haven't done one of these in ten chapters, and I thought I might as well remind you (and myself) that CSI, unfortunately, does not belong to me.**

**A/N: An update in less than three weeks? Wow, what's up with me? **

**---Warning: Long Boring A/N---**

**To my non-Snicker lovin' reviewers: In the last batch of reviews, a couple people expressed a disinterest in the Snickers ship. That's fine. Hell, I don't like every ship either, and I'm a firm believer in saying what you've gotta say. Honest reviews are the best reviews. But, I love my readers, I really do. And I'd hate to lose some of ya'll over shipperdom. So just for the record, chapter eighteen was probably the largest amount of Snickers you will see in _this_ fic. **

**ETA: Okay, that's what I get for trying to make sense at three a.m on four hours of sleep. What I mean was that there _will_ be more Snickers, but not as much as in chapter eighteen.**

**To the Snicker cliquers who may read this: If for some reason you feel the urge to retaliate on behalf of your ship (be honest, some of you were thinking it. Us shippers are a volatile bunch), please don't. It's not that serious.**

**And now that I've overreacted sufficiently, lol, I'll shut up.**

**Chapter Nineteen: The Eye's Have It**

The moment Schilner and Wolf finished updating them on both Catherine and the baby's condition, Warrick and Grissom began making calls. Cell phone usage was prohibited within the hospital, so they were forced to endure the chill of the night as they dutifully called their friends and colleagues.

Warrick speed dialed Catherine's house, number three on his list, the shrill ring barely sounding in his ear before the call was answered.

"Hello?" Lily sounded harried and wide-awake, and Warrick doubted she'd slept much if at all.

"Hey, Lily," Warrick barely finished his greeting before she cut him off.

"Warrick? Has something happened? Is Catherine alright?"

"Catherine is fine," he broke in, his voice calm, reassuring in its tone. "She just got out of surgery."

"Oh, God," she sighed in relief. "Its only been a few hours. You calling this early….I thought something had gone wrong."

"No, things went better than they'd hoped. That's why they were able to finish so soon. They say we'll be able to see her briefly in an hour or so."

Lily let out another relieved sigh. "I'm just glad my baby's okay."

"Yeah," he agreed, silently adding _and mine too_.

"Let me tell Sam. He just dozed off…"

"Alright," Warrick nodded. "I'll see you when you get here." He told her goodbye and pressed END. He heard Grissom's sigh and the soft _click_ of his phone closing and glanced up.

"Something up?"

Grissom shook his head no even as he absently explained, "Greg's on his way, but Sofia's car won't start. She thinks the battery is dead, so I'm going to go get her."

Warrick nodded. "Okay. I'll let Nick and Sara know what's up."

Grissom gave him a nod and headed for the parking lot, his gait quick.

Warrick, deciding that Sara would kill him if she were the last person to receive a call, speed-dialed her house. As he pressed the Motorola cell phone to his ear, he turned to face the glass entrance doors, keeping an eye on Lindsay. She sat staring at the TV, obviously bored with whatever was on the screen. The phone rang once…twice…three times…by the fifth ring he was ready to hang up.

"Yeah?" Sara's groggy voice sounded muffled on the phone. He was pretty sure he'd woken her up.

"Hey, Sara. It's me. Catherine's out of surgery, she's doing great. Everything went off without a hitch. We can see her in an hour."

Another sigh, the fourth in less than ten minutes, reached his ears. "Good. I'll be there in twenty-minutes, tops."

"Okay. You gonna call Nick? Your truck's still at the lab, right?"

"Oh, right." She hesitated. "Yeah. Yeah, I'll call him."

"Okay. See you in a minute, then."

They clicked off and Warrick headed back inside.

-x-

Sara set the cordless phone blindly on the nightstand with a soft thump and stared into the inky blackness surrounding her, blinking slowly. She'd been sleeping surprisingly well and cobwebs still clung to the recesses of her mind. She ran a hand over her face and lay there until they cleared away. It took a few moments, but was necessary. She had to be clear-headed when she dealt with Nick.

She reached out, her aim once again blind, but still managed to hit her target.

"Nicky? Wake up. Cath's out of surgery…"

-x-

Less than forty minutes later everyone had again gathered in the ER's waiting room, with the exception of Brass, who was still working the case he'd been called in on. The atmosphere amongst the group was entirely different from that of earlier, relief and quiet anticipation having replaced worry and fear.

Lindsay could barely stay seated, so strong was her relief. No one could fault the girl, though. They all felt quite similar and wished they could be as unabashedly happy as she. But age and decorum kept their expressions of joy to small relieved smiles and lighter-hearted small talk.

Schilner appeared another fifteen minutes later, sans the 'remarkable Doctor Wolf'.

"Ah," he said with a genial smile. "The gang's all here. Let me just run through the—for lack of a better word—the rules, and then the first two people can go on up."

"You're allowed to visit for up to five minutes. Try not to over-stimulate her. She's been through a lot tonight and though she may seem to be alert and just like she usually is, she's not. The effects of drugs, although having lifted somewhat, are still in place. One second she will be completely coherent and articulate, and the next she may barely be able to keep her eyes open. And the stress of the accident itself will definitely have an influence in this as well. Her body, for the next few days, will be demanding its rest so that she can recuperate."

He took a breath, "Aside from that, she'll be hooked up to monitors, which can be disconcerting, and she has some bruising on her face and body as well as some bandages. This is only natural, and believe me, it looks worse than it really is. Don't freak out. That's the last thing she needs, and I want you all to be prepared." He eyed the group before giving them a reassuring smile. "So…who's first?"

-x-

They'd decided as a group that Lindsay and Warrick should be the first to go so that Lindsay could get home and get some rest. Lindsay's expression told them all what she thought of going home now, but to her credit she didn't say anything, remembering what her grandmother had told her.

The pair had followed Schilner to the elevators, standing to one side as he pushed the button for floor six. Warrick had tensed imperceptibly as they slowed to a stop at floor four, relaxing only when a chubby and friendly looking older nurse with frizzy blonde hair joined them, giving them all a pleasant smile. He'd spotted neither Tina nor David during the short stop and was glad of it.

He'd pushed the pair from his mind and focused all attention on the sixth floor.

The chime of the bell alerted them that they'd reached their floor and everyone but the nurse piled out into another brightly lit corridor. The walls here were yellow also, but unlike in Pediatrics, the color was muted, a soft, buttery shade that lent more to calm than cheer.

Warrick had been to Recovery more times than he cared to count, interviewing victims or criminals or collecting evidence. He'd never been there as a visitor before, though. Not in the true sense of the word. With work, there was detachment. Now there were more emotions involved than he could think to name, although apprehension, tension, and relief topped the list. And also, if he were completely honest with himself, a little bit of anger.

She hadn't told him that she was pregnant with his child and try as he might to keep in mind what she must have been going through, it still rankled him. After all, it was his baby too, and he should have been the first person she told. He had a right to know, didn't he?

He was pushing those thoughts aside when Doctor Schilner stopped in front of room 627 and turned to face them. "Remember," he said, "this isn't TV where people come out of surgery looking rested and refreshed. She's gonna look like she was in an accident. But like I said earlier, it looks worse than it is." Schilner gently touched Lindsay's shoulder as he spoke, a comforting and strengthening gesture and though he had addressed them both, Warrick knew this second speech was more for Lindsay's benefit than his own.

"I'll alert the nurses that you're here. And remember: five minutes. She needs her rest."

Lindsay and Warrick nodded, watching as Schilner walked to the nurses station. Warrick then turned his attention to Lindsay.

"Hey, Linds? You mind me going in by myself for a minute? See how she is?" _See if she had something to say…_

Lindsay looked up at him, remembering that she'd spilled the baby beans.

Warrick read the slight panic that appeared in her eyes and gave her a grin. "It's cool, Lindsay. Your mom's not gonna be upset. Promise."

"Okay," Lindsay said after a moment's consideration. She trusted him, believed his words. "I'll wait here," she added, leaning against the wall.

"Thanks," he said, reaching out and ruffling her hair.

"Warr_ick!_" she groaned, ducking out of his reach and smoothing her hair.

He chuckled, remembering how a few short years ago she used to have a giggle fit when he did that. "Sorry. Force of habit."

Lindsay rolled her eyes, but was smiling. "Right."

He reached for the knob, and, for him, all lightheartedness ceased.

-x-

Catherine had been awake, or, more aptly put, _lucid_ for roughly thirty minutes now. She couldn't be sure, because when you were in the hospital hours and minutes had a way of running together, especially when you were loopy on painkillers and anesthetic, but half an hour seemed about right. Incidentally, considering what the doctor had told her about the extent of her injuries, she was forever indebted to the creators of the wonderful liquid relief being steadily pumped into her veins. She felt like hell as it was, and couldn't begin to imagine how much worse it would be without the drugs.

The majority of her injuries throbbed with a dull ache that proved more annoying than painful, and if you asked her, irritating beat excruciating any day. Her right arm, however, was completely numb, and the doctor had told her she'd dislocated it. She'd nodded when he'd told her, thinking sardonically _that would explain the sling._

Before hearing about any of her injuries, though, or the surgery or anything else for that matter, she'd asked about the baby.

"A fighter like his mother," said a nurse who was busy shooting something into her IV with a frighteningly long needle.

The doctor, Schiller or Schandler, or something—she'd been too concerned and slightly delusional to really pick up on it—had quickly agreed, setting to work on allaying her fears. As far as he could tell, the baby "never knew anything had happened."

His reply had calmed her, though she was sure they'd put something in the IV to get her this tranquil. The doctor didn't supply that information and she didn't ask. Instead, he'd begun telling her about her surgery and all the subsequent information such as medications and recovery time—she'd be laid up for a month. A _month!_— and she knew she'd go stir crazy for sure. He'd wrapped up his homily by informing her that her family and friends were in the waiting area and that they could come up if she felt up to it. She'd said of course and for the past fifteen or so minutes she'd waited.

Now, she heard footsteps stop within a few feet of her door. Muted voices traveled through the windowless wood panel but she couldn't make out words or to whom the voices belonged. Just the rise and fall of two, maybe three, people talking.

The words stopped and the door slowly swung inward and she immediately recognized the tall, lanky figure coming through the doorway, gaze still on the door itself. She felt a tired half smile twitch into place.

"Hey," she said, her voice groggy and scratchy from a combination of drugs, fatigue and the tube they'd put down her throat during surgery.

He looked up, tired eyes met hers and, instantly, she saw it.

He hadn't said it. Hadn't said a word, actually, and he looked pretty much like he always had, save for the fatigue coming off him in waves. But it was there, in his eyes, and she saw it.

_He knew_.

**A/N2: Alrighty, I'm just wonderin' what you guys are thinking. **


	20. Showdown

**A/N: Horribly, horribly late, I know. I promise the next chapter will be up within a week, two tops. Forgive me?**

**And thanks so much for all the lovely reviews. I didn't reply to them all like I usually do, but I wanted ya'll to know I appreciate them. Thanks to Sunset, Greggo Maniac, and Chickie Baby for the wonderful beta work. I'd be so lost without you three.**

**Chapter Twenty: Showdown**

_He knew!_

Catherine was caught by complete and total surprise. She looked away, unprepared to deal with…_this_. Her eyes alighted on white everywhere they landed in the brightly lit hospital room. White walls, white bed sheets, white tiles on the floor. Even the medical machinery was white, save for the neon green peaks and valleys of her heart monitor. The room's nineteen-inch television, mounted on the wall across from the bed, featured a blank screen and black plastic shell, lending to the monochromatic scheme.

She focused on the room's only true splash of color, a picture hanging on the wall to the right of the bed. The print, pale pink frame shining dully in the florescent lighting, featured a lakefront at sunset. She stared at it transfixed. The vivid reds and oranges of the burning sun proving an absorbing contrast to the pale and dark blues of the water. The soft pinks and deep purples of the evening sky harmonized with the greens and tans of the sand grasses and cattails. Overall, it was a beautiful print, calm and serene, and as she gazed at it she steeled herself for whatever was about to come.

The room had grown quiet after her initial greeting, but now Warrick spoke up, clearing his throat. "How're you feeling?" he asked, his tone low and calm, reminding Catherine of that brief period before a thunderstorm.

She gave a small one-shouldered shrug, her fatigued muscles making the movement much more of a strain than it should have been. She paused, considering her words carefully. Deciding to be straightforward, because there was no point in doing otherwise, she said, "We're alive, in pretty good shape. That's enough for me."

She'd watched his eyes as she spoke, gauging his reaction. He nodded slightly, but other than that there was nothing. His expression was passive, betraying no hints of what was going on inside his head. Catherine felt a pang. Usually, she could read him but now, she felt a distance…a chill...between them. And it scared her to think just how much that bothered her.

She realized she was holding her breath and forced herself to breathe slowly, taking shallow, even breaths as the silence stretched between them. She finally let out a sigh, dropping her gaze to her hands where they lay limply in her lap.

When she looked up, she met his gaze with more bravado than she really felt; the fact that his bright and expressive eyes were now painfully flat and hard was playing on her already frayed nerves. She swallowed a lump that had formed in her throat, and prayed her voice stayed steady. "I…I was going to tell you, Warrick," she said, her voice soft, but stable. "Tonight, actually. I know I should've done it sooner, but I…panicked, I guess…" her voice trailed off and she gave another small shrug. She watched him, annoyed by the tears that were making themselves a nuisance as they threatened to slide down her cheeks.

The muscle of his jaw twitched slightly, and his eyes flashed with something she was hard-pressed to name. There was a short pause before he finally nodded. "That's what you had wanted to tell me earlier? That you were pregnant? And the baby's mine?"

She nodded and looked at him. "Yeah. Then Grissom sent you on that kidnapping, and he wasn't exactly in a waiting mood. And now, here we are…" Catherine closed her eyes, the reality of it all hitting hard. She gave a tired sigh and leaned back into her pillows.

Warrick had a billion questions. But he looked at her, really looked at her, for the first time since entering the room. The black eyes, courtesy of a broken nose, were a dusky purple against her sallow complexion, her already fair skin ashen. The flesh-toned bandages holding together the gash on her forehead stood out in stark contrast, the skin around the wound an angry, irritated red.

He watched the shaky rise and fall of her chest, her bruised and battered body propped against the hospital issue pillows. And he felt like a complete jerk.

His anger and frustrations were valid but his behavior was hardly justifiable. This was neither the time nor the place for him to be demanding answers, even if the questions were legitimate. Catherine was recovering from surgery and he was behaving as a brute.

The doctor's words came flooding back to him, clear and chastening: "Try not to over-stimulate her…"

Disgusted with himself, Warrick sighed, and in a few quick strides was at her bedside. His questions could be answered later. Right now, he needed to be there for Catherine. Nothing more, and sure-as-hell nothing less.

Catherine had opened her eyes at his sigh and had pensively watched his approach. She was unable to keep the wariness, fatigue and a pain that had nothing to do with her injuries from showing in her gaze, and now it was Warrick's turn to feel a pang.

Surprised that the expressionless mask had been replaced with concern and compassion, Catherine began to speak. "Warrick, I—"

"Hey," he said softly, with a small shake of his head and slight smile. "Don't worry about it, okay? You just focus on getting better, all right? Right now, everything else…doesn't matter."

She scanned his eyes, seeking explanation for this sudden change in emotion. Finding none, but relieved nonetheless, she nodded.

Warrick picked up the hand nearest him and, his thumb trailing the back of her hand, leaned forward, pressing a kiss to her forehead between bandage and brow.

Her lids fluttered closed at the contact and when she opened them they immediately sought his. She saw no hint of the frustration she knew he must be feeling, no trace of the doubts and questions she knew lingered somewhere in his mind. Instead, there was just the compassion and concern, and a tenderness that had tears prickling the backs of her eyes.

She swallowed hard, and parted her lips to speak, but was unsure of what she wanted to say.

Warrick smiled. "We'll have plenty of time to talk later, Cath, okay?" He gave her hand a squeeze and glanced at the door, and turned back with a grin. "Besides, Lindsay'll have my head if I leave her out there for too much longer."

Catherine chuckled softly, the sound husky and low, though not from drugs or tubes this time. "Okay."

Warrick held her gaze a moment longer before giving her hand a final squeeze and turning to the door. As he approached the door, Catherine blinked away the tears she knew lingered in her eyes and took a deep breath.

Warrick pulled open the door and stuck his head into the hall. "Is there a Lindsay Willows out here?" he asked, purposefully overlooking the teen.

"Warrick," she groaned. "Stop playing around. Can I come in now or what?"

"I dunno," he paused. "I'm gonna have to see some I.D." Catherine could practically see the eye roll.

"_Warrick!_"

He chuckled. "Alright, alright. I'll get back to you about the I.D. thing later. Come on in."

Lindsay tentatively stepped into the room, and, after shooting Warrick a baleful look, she took one look at her mother and flew to her side.

Warrick watched the two engage in a gentle embrace, happy tears trailing down both their faces. He smiled at the image of mother and daughter before quietly leaving the room, pulling the door shut behind him.

-x-

The next few days' shifts were abuzz with news of Catherine, the accident, and, of course, the baby. Now that it was clear that Catherine was going to be just fine, speculation turned to one simple topic: Who was the daddy? The entire lab, minus five key individuals, was alive with theories, and the rumor mill was going full tilt.

Of course, the five abstainees were Grissom, Sara, Nick, Warrick, and, strangely enough, Greg Sanders.

Grissom figured that it was none of his business, and he'd never much been one for guesswork anyway. He followed the evidence, not baseless, inane theories. He had a lab to run and didn't see the necessity, or intelligence, of mindless speculations. Besides, he knew that Catherine would let them all know when and if she wanted. That was how Catherine operated. Always had, always would.

Sara had no time for the lab rats and their gossip, no matter how often Hodges, or Archie, or Bobby tried to get her to voice an opinion. And she told them as much, but the truth was that she was preoccupied with her own dilemmas. The least of her concerns was who'd fathered Catherine's child. No, she was more worried if the knowing looks Nick kept sending her were going to get the rumor-mill started on _her_. The looks, the smiles, the double entendres…the fact that she grinned like an idiot whenever he was around…All of this was troublesome. But if she'd put her mind to the question of '_who?'_ she probably would've been able to figure it all out.

Nick, who suspected he already knew the answer to the million dollar question, was 99.9 sure of it, was simply amused. Watching everyone else go nuts was horribly entertaining. What's more, he was having too much fun tormenting one Sara Sidle to pay much attention to lab gossip. Ever since that first night at the hospital Sara hadn't been quite sure how to act around him, and considering how she'd hounded him for nearly a week and a half about Warrick and Catherine after the case at the Bellagio, he thought it due time for her to suffer a little, if for completely different reasons.

Warrick…Well, Warrick already knew who the father was, which meant he had no need for speculation, did he? Even if he had seen fit to add or redirect certain rumors, he was a bit more preoccupied with getting together some very important paper work. Warrick was fast finding that, unfortunately, it was a lot harder to get divorced than hitched in this town. However, it was his reluctance to get involved in the sport of speculation that was the catalyst for, of all people, Greg finding out.

The revelation went like this:

Warrick, Nick and Greg had been the lucky CSI's to draw a case that was not so much hard to solve, as it was hard to put together. This was mainly because the idiot drunk who served as their only eyewitness was, well, an idiot drunk. His accounts of the events changed depending on just how much he'd had to drink. Nick was just waiting for pink elephants to make their way into the every changing tale of the bank heist.

So, instead of relying on Mr. Hennessey (the ironies of life never ceased to amuse Greg), they were going at it the old fashioned way—lay it all out on the table and see if the evidence spoke to you. In other words, piece by tedious, paper-worked piece.

"You'd think that the bank manager would cooperate more. I can't believe what we had to go through to get these security tapes," Nick groused, heaving an exasperated sigh as he dropped the stills from the security footage on the table in front of him.

"Well," Greg said, "if you were caught on tape with your pants around your ankles and a transvestite named Sally under you desk, while some guys robbed you blind right outside your office, would be eager to let it get out? Especially if you had a wife and two kids?"

Nick nodded an amused if slightly bemused smirk on his face. "Point taken."

Greg grinned and returned to the stills of said videos, trying to get a good look at the perps. So far no luck.

The room was relatively silent as they poured over the stills and reports that littered the table. After about fifteen minutes, Greg sat back and sighed. "I'm getting nothing, a whole lot of it."

Nick was hunched over the table and didn't look up from the still he was examining. When he spoke his words were slow, as though he wasn't putting much thought into them. "C'mon Greggo, this is the fun part. Who doesn't like staring at grainy black and whites for hours on end?"

Greg snorted, "Yeah. Right. And Hoffa's my uncle."

Nick cracked a grin, but Warrick didn't seem to have heard anything they'd said.

Greg whistled, trying to get his attention. "You-hoo, Warrick? You in there, man?"

Warrick looked up, his expression slightly confused. "Wha?"

Greg shrugged. "I was just wondering if you were still with us." He tipped his head forward, towards the report Warrick held in his hand. "You've been looking at that page for fifteen minutes. Either you found something you ain't telling us about, or you completely zoned for a while."

Warrick sat back and let out a sigh of his own, running his hand across his face. "Yeah, sorry. Just a lot going on right now. I got a lot on my mind," he said.

Greg nodded. "I say we take a break then."

Nick dropped his picture and squeezed his eyes shut, pressing the digits of his left hand to his sockets. "Works for me. Feels like my eyes are gonna climb out of my skull."

"I'd offer Visine," came a voice from the doorway, and they all looked up to see Hodges standing in the doorframe, "but I don't think that'll help. Sounds more like you need an exorcist."

Nick offered a tight smile. "What's up Hodges?"

Hodges glanced at the sheets of paper he held in his hand, "Well, I've got the results on those white crystals you found at the scene," he paused, and they looked at him expectantly. "It was salt. More specifically, kosher salt. Great for pickles."

They groaned, having expected something a little more ground breaking than sodium chloride.

"Hey, don't get too down. That's only half the news." The three CSI's perked up again, and again, Hodges paused, soaking up the attention. "I ran into Wendy on my way down here, she'd gotten back the results on those blood drops you found in the vault. I offered to bring them down, for her…"

The silence grew, and Warrick, short on patience, said, "Spit it out, Hodges."

Hodges looked affronted. Holding out the sheets he said, "Looks like your gunman is a gun-_woman_."

Warrick took the sheaf of papers, his expression incredulous. "You're kidding me."

Hodges pulled a pseudo-contemplative face. "Mmmm, I don't think a gunman could be pregnant."

"Wait, wait, wait," Nick said, holding up a hand. "She's _pregnant_?"

Hodges looked pleased to have been the one to drop the bomb. He watched as Warrick passed the reports to Nick. "Hormones don't lie, Nicky my boy."

"Don't call me Nicky," Nick said, distractedly, his gaze drinking in the information on the papers.

Warrick still looked surprised. "Thanks Hodges," he said, effectively dismissing him.

Hodges nodded, and headed off down the hall.

"Wow," Greg said, breaking a few beats of silence. "Guess it wouldn't matter if Mr. Bacardi—"

"Hennessey, Greg," Nick corrected.

"Whatever. I was saying that even if he _was_ sober, it wouldn't matter. That's the one part of his statement that never changes. He swears he saw three _men_. He didn't say anything about a woman, and that jives with what we're seeing. I mean they all look like men to me. And none of them look pregnant, either."

"Well, the hormone levels are consistent with her being in the early stages," Nick said, glancing at the report again.

"Yeah, she may not have been showing yet," agreed Warrick.

"True," Greg nodded. He paused before adding, "I would've never guessed that Catherine was pregnant."

There was a moment of silence as they all remembered just how they'd come to know she was expecting.

Greg spoke up again. "That's gotta be rough. The accident, then having surgery and staying in the hospital, with the father nowhere to be found."

Nick saw Warrick tense out of the corner of his eye. _Uh-oh._ "Greg," he said, his tone a subtle warning to drop it.

Greg appeared not to have heard. "What kind of jerk does that anyway? Especially when there was a chance that Catherine and the baby may not have made it. He has to be one hell of a rat-bastard."

"Greg," Nick said again, this time the warning in his tone quite clear, but Greg was gone, off on a tangent, his brow knit in indignation.

"Jeez, where does he get off anyway? There's no chance I'd abandon a girl if I got her pregnant. That's the coward's way out, anyway. What kind of man does that? Can he even really call himself a man? A real man wouldn't just throw away his kid like that. This guy," Greg paused and shook his head, obviously unable to find the proper description of what this guy was. "What a douche-bag."

"Greg!" Nick tried one final time.

Greg looked up, coming out of his anger-induced trance. "Huh?"

But it was too late. By now, Warrick's already tried patience had snapped.

"Hey Greg, did you ever stop to think that maybe the father does care? That he's doing everything he possibly can for her? Did you think of that? Huh?" He was leaning forward, eyes flashing. "Maybe you just don't know who he is because Catherine doesn't need anymore stress on her plate. Maybe they decided that this was the best way to handle the situation right now. Probably don't want any more people peddling in her business than there already are.

"There's a hell of a lot going on that you don't even know about, so I wouldn't make any snap judgments right now. Might piss somebody off, and that might not be a very good idea. Especially if that somebody was dealing with crap you couldn't even imagine. So just shut up and mind your own damn business." Warrick stood up and strode from the layout room, slamming the door hard enough for the glass to shake and both Nick and Greg to jump.

Greg gaped wide-eyed at the spot where Warrick had been half an instant previous, and Nick blew out a breath and ran a hand through his hair. Neither man noticed the stares of the people who'd witnessed the outburst.

Greg was shocked. Warrick rarely went off, not like that, and when he did it was hardly ever directed at his co-workers. Greg blinked and then, if possible, his eyes grew even wider as realization set in.

"What the hell…" he said, shell-shocked. "It's Warrick…He's the father."

**A/N: So, you know what I want right? No? Well, I was sorta hopin' to hear what you're thinkin'…**


	21. Complicated is the Whole Point

**A/N: Eight months and twenty-one chapters ago, I started this fic with no idea how long, or well received it would be. I just wanted to take a quick moment to say thank you to all the people who took the time to read and review my fic. Your continued support meant a lot to me. In short? You guys rock! And a very special thank you goes to _Greggo Maniac_,_ Chickie Baby_,and_ Sunset,_ who have been my sounding boards and betas. I don't know what I would've done without you guys. **

**Alright, enough of my sentimental ramblings, and on with the chapter…**

**Chapter Twenty-One: Complicated is the Whole Point**

Greg looked expectantly at Nick, who hiked his brows and gave a little shrug, silently rising from his seat. He left the room, making a much quieter exit than Warrick, and ignoring the curious stares of his coworkers, disappeared around the corner.

Wendy was walking past, with one of the other female lab techs. She watched Nick turn the corner before shuffling across the hall and poking her head in the door.

"God, Greg. What the hell was that?"

Greg looked up at her from his seat. His eyebrows neared his hairline as he struggled for words. "I…I'm not sure. It…He…and I…" He shook his head and shrugged.

Wendy smirked at Greg before looking in the direction Warrick and Nick had gone, her expression curious. "Huh…Well, I think I'll stay out of _his_ way tonight."

Greg nodded, absently picking up a random still-frame photo. "Yeah…" He glanced at it, did a double-take, and his look of confusion and numb shock transformed into a triumphant grin. He held the photo up for Wendy to see.

She smiled at the grainy but visible face of one of the robbers. "I always did love Candid Camera. Never knew what you might see."

-x-

Nick found Warrick in the men's bathroom, which was otherwise empty. Warrick was bent over the sink, hands supporting his weight on the basin, water dripping from his face.

Nick leaned against the wall with his arms crossed and waited as Warrick dried his hands and face. He cleared his throat and asked, "So…you wanna talk about it?"

Warrick tossed the damp paper towels in the trash bin, shaking his head even as he began to speak. "Nothin' to talk about. I lost it in there." He shrugged. "Don't know why…he just…got to me."

"Uh-huh."

Warrick looked at him, knowing a disbelieving tone when he heard one. His brow rose. "What?"

Nick shrugged. "I think you're full of crap."

Warrick scoffed. "I'm full of crap?"

Nick chuckled. "Uh, yeah. You, Warrick Brown, Mr. Tell-It-Straight, are full of crap."

Warrick said nothing, crossing his own arms and waiting expectantly for Nick to expound on this accusation.

"C'mon man, how long have I known you?"

Warrick shrugged. "Years. Since we started here."

"Exactly. And I can probably count on one hand how many times I've seen you snap on somebody like that."

"Yeah. So?"

"So," Nick said, stretching out the word, "…each and every time I can think of, you were somehow involved. Personally."

"Again, so what? Catherine is our colleague, Nick, and a friend. Of course it was personal."

Nick sighed, thinking this was like pulling teeth from a crocodile. He shook his head. "Warrick, in any other situation, you would've been right with Greg in dogging out Catherine's mystery man. Especially if what he'd said was true." He paused, and when Warrick said nothing, he continued. "But this wasn't any other situation. This, like all those other times, was personal. Very personal. Greg touched on a sore subject, didn't he, Rick?" Nick prodded, much like he would a resistant suspect.

Seeing that Warrick had no intentions of breaking his silence any time soon, Nick gave up on trying to get him to admit to something they both knew to be true and decided to take a different, more direct route. "Look, man, given that you looked as surprised as everyone else when Lindsay inadvertently broke the news, I'm gonna take a guess that Catherine hadn't told you about your impending fatherhood."

This, after a long, silent stare-down, finally got a reaction from Warrick. He sighed and shook his head. "No, not yet. She said she was trying to tell me before Grissom came and found me for that kidnapping case."

Nick nodded his understanding. "Okay…So, what're you guys going to do?"

Warrick shrugged. "I don't know yet. I told her not to worry about it for now. To just concentrate on getting better."

"Okay…Well, what do _you_ want to do about it?"

Warrick looked at him. "What do I want to do about it?" He paused, thinking. "I just want to be there for Catherine. I'm gonna do everything I can for her. And of course for the baby…My baby." He corrected, and seemed to retreat inward at those last two words. Nick remained silent, allowing Warrick his thoughts, waiting until he came back to the present.

When the far away look passed from Warrick's face, Nick posed the most logical next question. "And what about Tina? How's she takin' it?"

Warrick stared at him for a minute before blowing out a sigh. "Don't think that'll be much of a problem," he murmured. "Me and Tina…It's over. Has been since that first night at the hospital."

Nick looked surprised. "Wait, she found out about Cath—?"

"No," Warrick shook his head. " I went up to check in with her, let her know I was at the hospital...And I found her in a supply closet with David."

"Jesus," Nick said on a whisper. " You mean…"

Warrick gave him a sour smile. "No. Nothing like that. I just found out some interesting things about her…_relationship_, with her ex."

Nick blew out a bewildered breath. "Jeez…And there was nothing to do to…salvage the relationship," he said. It was a statement, not a question.

Warrick gave a dry chuckle. "Finding out that your wife's baby has a good chance of being someone else's kid kinda puts things in perspective."

Nick was speechless, his eyes wide.

"I realized that the main reason I was still with Tina, even after I found out about her cheating, was for the baby's sake. And even that never felt completely right. There was this feeling that something was…off…" He shook his head. "Anyway, with those misplaced feelings of loyalty and responsibility gone, there was no reason for me to lie to myself anymore. I was tired of feeling guilty and not knowing why."

Nick nodded slowly in agreement. "So, what's going on? You two start the divorce process and everything?"

Warrick nodded and sighed. "Man, it's worse than any case I've ever worked. The paper work is ridiculous, and the lawyers…Pshhh," he shook his head. "Here, I thought defense attorneys were vultures, but, man, they've got nothing on divorce lawyers. The defense is out for an acquittal, and maybe some airtime on the late night news. Overpaid weasels, the lot of 'em. But divorce lawyers…Divorce lawyers are out for blood. They're sharks. Worse, actually."

Nick cracked a sympathetic smile. "Her lawyers are that bad, huh?"

Warrick looked surprised and shook his head. "Her lawyers? I haven't even dealt with her lawyers yet. I was talking about the guy I hired."

Nick laughed out loud at that, and Warrick joined him, shaking his head at the unbelievable nature of the entire situation. Since when was his life this complicated?

-x-

Complicated is the whole point. 

For whatever reason, those words came floating into Catherine's mind as she sat on the edge of the hospital bed, waiting for the required wheelchair that would be her transport to the ground floor, and finally the exit. When she'd spoken those words over a year ago, she'd had no idea what the future held for her, and never in her wildest dreams would she have come up with something that was half as complex as the situation she was in now.

She was 43-years-old, pregnant and recovering from surgery. Her daughter, at fourteen, was growing up before her very eyes, the glimpses of the woman Lindsay was becoming fast replacing those of the little girl she had been. In no time at all, Lindsay would be off at college, then out into the world to make a life of her own, and then…what? Catherine would be alone, left to raise yet another child on her own. The thought was harrowing.

There was a knock on the door and she looked up, expecting to see her mother, who was coming to pick her up, or maybe the nurse, back with more papers. Surprised, she smiled as Warrick walked into the room. He had a small bouquet of flowers in his hand, pink tulips, purple and yellow iris, and a few sprays of baby's breath. Catherine was reminded of a case from a few months back. It had been a breaking and entering job at a small time florist, definitely petty cash. Some young punks out for a rush and a laugh.

The thirty-something woman who owned the place had talked Catherine's ear off about just about every type of flower and their traditional meanings. She'd learned more about flowers that shift than she'd ever need to know. But now she couldn't help but wonder if Warrick had any idea what his particular selection meant.

"Hey," he greeted her, his smile broad as he held out the flowers.

"Hey yourself," she grinned, gently touching a sprig of baby's breath. "Pretty,"

she said.

"I think so," he said, his gaze never wavering from her face.

She wondered if he was referring strictly to the flowers. Dangerous territory and she steered clear of it. Lowering the wax-paper wrapped bouquet to her lap she asked, "What brings you here?"

"I'm playing chauffeur today." He grinned at her raised eyebrow. "Lily was a mess, trying to make sure everything was perfect for your arrival. I volunteered to pick you up. I think she would've spontaneously combusted if I hadn't stepped in."

Catherine laughed, a hearty sound that was a vast improvement on the shaky timbre of her voice just one week previous. What a difference a day—or seven—makes. "My hero," she said dryly, her eyes alight with good humor.

Warrick grinned. "Yeah. Just don't tell her I said she was a mess. I think she might shoot me the way she's feeling."

Catherine laughed again. "Nah, she'd have Sam do it. Shooting is not my mother's style. Too messy."

Warrick snorted a laugh. "Humph, good to know. I'll be sure too keep that in mind."

Catherine was about to make another wisecrack when there was another soft knock at the door. They both looked to it as the nurse entered, wheelchair in front of her.

"Here you are Miss Willows." Her voice was irritatingly melodic, a practiced trait, Catherine was sure. It fit her though, she was perkiness personified: bouncy blonde hair, bubbly personality, and big bright smile.

"I _can_ walk, you know," Catherine said, not for the first time. "I feel fine."

The nurse gave her an indulgent smile. "I'm sure you do, but," she shrugged, the rise of her shoulders bumping the ends of her faux flaxen hair. Her expression was regretful, as though she truly had no say in the matter, and the wheelchair matter was in hands much higher than hers. "Doctor's orders."

Catherine sighed, knowing this was a load of BS. The hospital was only worried about her falling down a flight of stairs, then taking them to the cleaners in court. She gingerly lowered her feet to the floor, sliding off the edge of the bed, careful not to shift or jostle the sling on her right arm. She sat in the wheelchair, and the nurse began to push her towards the door of the private room she'd been given after her brief stint in Recovery. It was definitely one of the better rooms, more a small suite than hospital room. Sometimes, she thought, it paid to have a father who owned half the town, and knew who owned the rest.

"I'll do that," Warrick said, stepping up to take the handles.

The nurse looked at him. "Well, I'm supposed to escort her downstairs," she said, pensively, pausing to examine Warrick more closely. Suddenly, she smiled. "But I guess it would be okay. I'll have a few of the orderlies bring down her bags and the flowers."

"Thank you," Warrick replied.

She yielded the chairs' rubber-covered handles and stepped aside. With one last smile and a bubbly _you take care now_ she left the room.

Catherine looked up at Warrick incredulously. "How did you do that?"

He grinned down at her. "Do what?"

"_That_," she said insistently. "I've been arguing with her all morning about how I was going to get downstairs, and here you waltz in, and she just gives up the reins."

He shrugged. "You don't have my looks and charm."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Don't give me that 'looks and charm' excuse. That's a load of bull."

Warrick laughed, and held up his hands in surrender. "Alright, Sassy, just calm down. I don't know why. Honest."

She raised an eyebrow at him and shook her head, smirking. Actually, she was apt to believe the charm and looks theory. Wouldn't have been the first time in history that someone got what they were after because of their looks. "Alright then, Boy Scout, get me out of here. I'm starting to really hate hospitals."

"Yes ma'am," he said, and pushed her out into the hall.

The two were quiet the rest of the journey out of Desert Palms, more out of respect for the other patients than a lack of something to say. As they arrived out side, Catherine squinted in the bright sunlight, blinking as her eyes adjusted.

She hadn't been outside since the night of the accident, a week ago, and the dull, color-draining florescent lights of the hospital were definitely no substitute for the sun's rays. Despite the fact that her eyes were burning and she was finding it impossible to keep them both open at one time she was delighted to be out of the confines of the hospital room.

She took a deep breath; enjoying the heavy, vapor thick air, clearing the scent of anti-bacterial cleansers, medicine, and sickness from her nasal passage. It was going to rain soon, a nice big storm. She could smell it and was grateful for the prospect. The cool air, with its earthy, slightly musky smell was far better than the man-made cool of Desert Palms' air-conditioned halls. At least, she felt that way for now. Should it have started pouring right then, she probably would've gone running back to her room. Fortunately, the raindrops were staying heavenward for the time being.

Warrick had managed to park his car right outside the Emergency Room doors in a spot typically reserved for emergency vehicles, making use of one of the perks enjoyed by members of the law enforcement community. He opened the passenger door, and despite her protests that she didn't need it, helped her into the car. When he'd loaded the flowers and her two small travel bags into the backseat and gotten himself settled in the driver's seat, he noticed that she was watching him, her expression amused.

"All this macho, help-even-when-I-don't-want-it stuff isn't because I'm pregnant is it? I'm not in for five more months of this, am I?"

Warrick shook his head. "No."

She sat back in her seat, relaxing. "Good. I don't think I could take it."

"More like 221."

Catherine looked at him, confused. "What?"

Warrick shifted the car into drive and pulled away from the curb. "Last I checked, legal age was still eighteen. So, I think the number of months is closer to 221 than five."

Catherine stared at him, incredulous eyebrow raised. "Oh really?"

"Unless my math is wrong."

Catherine just laughed, shaking her head. "Right."

She closed her eyes, resting her head on the headrest and listening to the jazz floating through the car's speakers, the whisper of a smile still tilting the corners of her mouth. She may not know exactly what the future would bring, no one did, but it was the unexpected, the unplanned things that made life worth living. And Catherine was all about living.

Eventually, yes, Lindsay would be gone, and soon she would be starting all over again, raising another child. But the thought was no longer distressing. Okay, it wasn't _as_ distressing. Child rearing was hard work, but now the challenge was inviting, exciting even. Because she knew she'd been wrong earlier. She wouldn't be doing it alone.

She opened her eyes and glanced at Warrick, his strong features pinched in concentration as he focused on his driving. She studied him for a moment as they wound through streets she knew as well as her own name, squinting in thought.

She thought about how they still hadn't had that 'talk' yet, but whatever tension there was that night in Recovery had been set aside, and for that she'd be eternally grateful. They would talk everything through, eventually. For now though, she was content with the 'focus on getting better' arrangement. It went unsaid that the baby's health was a top priority. They didn't need to talk to know that much.

She thought about the realizations she'd had during one sleepless night at the hospital: she knew that she cared about him, that she loved him. In what capacity and how it would manifest were a little more tricky to figure out, and she had yet to reach a conclusion What she did know was that things were not going to be easy for them. Not in the least, but whatever happened, they'd get through it together. She had no doubts about that.

They eased to a halt at a stop sign, and Warrick glanced at her, catching her staring. He grinned. "Penny for your thoughts?"

She smiled in return, giving him a small shrug. "Nothing worth paying for. Just…thinking."

He nodded, taking her at her word, and hooked a left turn onto her street. Catherine focused ahead in anticipation. Her gaze was intent on her home, where she knew her family and friends were waiting, ready to welcome her. She grinned, thinking about how lucky she was. She had a wonderful family and great friends that she loved, and a job that not only made a difference, but she actually enjoyed…most of the time.

They pulled into the driveway, and before the car had come to a complete stop, Lindsay rushed out of the front door where she had been impatiently waiting for them to arrive. Catherine grinned at her daughter's exuberance and climbed from the SUV with relative ease. She leaned down, giving Lindsay as big a hug as she could manage with only one arm and a side full of stitches.

"Mom, Grandma made dinner. Your favorite, lasagna. And I made dessert. Well, Sara helped, but it was my idea…"

Glancing over the chattering teen's head, Catherine saw the smiling faces of her parents, her friends and co-workers as they spilled onto the front porch. _Her_ _family._

She began the trek to the house, her good arm around Lindsay's shoulders, as Nick and Greg came out to help with the luggage and flowers, pausing to welcome her home. Grissom, Sam, Lily, and Sara ushered her into the house in a flurry of well wishes and happy, grateful hugs.

In less than a minute, she was surrounded in the controlled chaos that every homecoming brings and for what must have been the zillionth time since Warrick had shown up at the hospital, she grinned, happy to be home. If this was complicated, she didn't want simple.

_**The End**_

**A/N: -bites back sob- I can't believe it's over. I didn't plan on it; the chapter kind of closed itself out. However, I _am_ thinking of doing a sequel…_If_ you guys are interested. Either way, let me know what you're thinking this one last time…**


End file.
